Coffee & Cigarettes
by twilightsgrace23
Summary: Both escaped to the tiny coastal town of Capeside, Oregon, Paul and Leah are new neighbors who are both determined to forget their pasts and move beyond them.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Everything belongs to SM..this is just me having fun.

This is a o/s I wrote for another, non-fanfiction related group. It's posted over on JBNP, and all the lovely ladies over there have demanded more. Let me know if you'd want to read more and I'll post it.

**Coffee & Cigarettes**

"_No warning sign, no alibi_

_We faded faster than the speed of light_

_Took a chance, crashed and burned_

_No, we'll never ever learn"_

The song drifted out across the patio, mingling with the steam from a hot cup of coffee and a lit cigarette resting in a thick glass ashtray. The wind blew off the beach, cool and moist against my face.

It was strange how a song could remind you of everything you lost, how the melody could rake the scabs off your wounds and make them bleed as if they were brand new.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out at the ocean. Even though six months had passed sometimes the pain felt as real as it had the moment I walked in to find Sam and Emily deep in the throes of passion, or some kind of random animal lust, on the couch in the living room of the house that he and I had shared.

Somehow I made it out of the house that afternoon and to my parent's house without breaking down in tears or driving my car off one of the many cliffs that lined the highway. My parents weren't happy to see me moving back in, but considering the circumstances, they remained quiet and left me to my misery.

For the first few days, my cell phone rang non-stop. Calls from Sam, text messages from Sam, voicemails from Sam, it was just too much. The day I shut my phone off, he showed up in my parent's kitchen.

I stared at him from my position across the kitchen. He sat at the table, his hands folded as if in prayer. "Lee-lee, please, let me explain-"

"No," I hissed at him. "You don't get to "explain." I-you-everything we had, it's all screwed up now. There's no coming back from that."

Sam sighed, hunching his shoulders up and opened his mouth to say something. I cut him off before he had the chance to utter a word. "No," I snapped at him. "You know what, no. Why did you do it, huh Sam, why?

Sam looked up at me and unfolded his hands. He laid them flat on the table and took a deep breath, his eyes while not flat, held no emotion. The look on his face told me that this was just something he wanted to be over and done with. "I just…" he sighed, his voice trailing off. "I just don't love you anymore."

Stunned, I fought back the tears that flooded my eyes and threatened to spill. There was no way I was going to let him see just how terribly he hurt me. "Well then, I guess that's that. You can leave now." I turned around and busied myself with the canisters on the counter. Behind me, the chair scraped the floor and Sam's heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. In the other room, the front door opened and closed and just like that, he was gone and I was alone. I turned away from the counter, wiped the tears from my eyes. Life carries on, I told myself. Some way, somehow, life marches on. That night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, at the posters of boy bands from the 90's, smiling and happy, stared back at me.

The next morning, I quit my job, packed my things and then drove until I ran out of gas. As I laid, cramps making my calf muscles twitch, across the backseat, I told myself that what I had done was stupid and clichéd – the woman scorned running away from all her problems instead of facing them head on.

_It's only for a little while,_ my subconscious had responded. _At least until your heart isn't so broken. Then you can go back to Seattle. _

In the early morning darkness, the flashing lights and groaning engine of a tow truck woke me. I opened my eyes and groggily blinked against the beam of the flashlight being shined in my eyes.

I sat and climbed out of the car. "I ran out of gas," I sheepishly told the driver.

He nodded wordlessly. "Have a seat in the truck. I'll get you hooked up and tow you into town. There's a gas station where you can fill up."

Through the murky fog, a small town appeared. A weathered sign welcomed me to Capeside, Oregon. At the gas station, I paid the tow fee and refueled my car. As the gas pump chugged along, I considered continuing south towards the unknown, but something about Capeside, and the fact that I ran out of gas here, made my decision to stay that much easier.

I checked into a picturesque little bed and breakfast and spent the day wandering around Capeside. With each step I took, it seemed like I was destined to be here. I found a job in a local boutique, working for an eccentric woman who wore dried roses pinned to her massive up-do, and a small bungalow overlooking the ocean. Days passed slowly, each one melting easily into the next.

Most days I could say I was happy, working in the boutique and coming home to my cozy little seaside bungalow, most days I could go on as if Sam never existed, but then the night would come and that nagging pain would settle deep down in the chambers of my heart.

In the ashtray, the last bit of tobacco burned down the cigarette smoke dissipating on the wind. I picked up the newspaper and cold cup of coffee and turned to head back inside.

The scent of hazelnut coffee still permeated the kitchen. I dropped the newspaper into the recycling bin and flicked off the coffeepot. I pulled back the curtain as I set the coffee cup in the sink. A moving van was parked in the driveway of the house next door.

New neighbors, I thought. Probably a ridiculously happy family with their two point five kids and perfectly groomed pup which will, no doubt, bark at all hours of the goddamn day and night.

I dropped the curtain. I had no desire to get to know the new neighbors or be a part of their happy beachfront existence. Glancing at the clock on the stove, I frowned, not realizing the hour. Hurrying toward the bathroom, I grabbed a towel from the hall closet and stopped at the radio playing in the bedroom.

30 Seconds to Mars had given way to Coldplay and Chris Martin whining about it being a shame for us to part, no one said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard. Well no crap, you pompous British a-hole, I thought, angrily sending the cd skipping forward to the next track.

It went from bad to worse with the singer on the next track crooning about how he would never leave her, about always wanting to be with her. This day, I decided, was officially starting to suck. Hard.

I shut the radio off before it had the chance to drive me even deeper into my rising depression. I grabbed my towel and headed into the bathroom to shower. As I washed my hair I forced myself to clear my mind, to _not_ think about Sam. The more I tried not to think about him the more vividly I remember him. His smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the god awful music he listened to when he worked on his car, the way he would hold me tight against his chest when we slept.

The spray of cold water shocked me out of my reverie, also signaling the end of the hot water. I jumped out of the way of the icy spray and silently cursed the small water heater. Shutting of the water I pulled the curtain back and wrapped my towel around me. The clock on the night stand read 8:30. "Crap," I muttered and hurried into the bedroom looking in the closet for something to wear to work.

Fifteen minutes later, in a semi-wrinkled pair of black slacks and a lightweight sweater, I dashed out of the house, already late for work. As I tossed my purse onto the passenger seat, a man unloading the moving van caught my eyes. Tall and lean, the muscles in his back rippled as he hefted a box out of the truck, the waist of track pants hanging low on his hips. I stood there, keys in hand, transfixed until he disappeared around the van.

A dog, albeit not a small yappy one, bounded across the lawn headed right for me, a slobbery tennis ball poking out of the dog's jowls. Skidding to a stop, the Lab dropped the ball at my feet and eyed me expectantly. I glanced from the ball, to the dog, back to the ball. The dog dipped his head as if to say, "go on and throw it, if you don't I'm not going away."

I sighed and kicked the ball. It flew past the massive dog and bounced across the yard. As the ball began its descent, the animal turned and gave chase. Quickly I got into the car and shut the door before he came back and wanted me to make a game of it.

As I reversed down the drive way, Track Pants appeared at the back of the moving truck, looking around for what I assumed was his dog. Too busy paying attention to him, I almost crashed into the mailbox. Face flushing red, I put the car in drive and steered it in the direction of the boutique.

The doors to Little Bits of Magic were open and the sea breeze set the wind chimes jingling on their hooks outside the shop. Petals, Esme Evenson's seriously obese Calico cat, slept the morning away on a vintage velvet chaise in the shop window.

"Good Morning!" she bellowed dramatically as I stuffed my purse in the drawer under the cash register. "The sun is shining, summer is upon us, we have new merchandise, let the tourist's come and spend their hard earned out of town money."

I smiled at her flair for the dramatic and headed into the store room to scope out the new merchandise. Perk number one of working here, I got first dibs and a discount. My entire home was furnished with pieces I'd collected since starting here.

A stack of boxes greeted me as I opened the door. I pulled one down and opened it. It looked like clothing from first glance. As I began pulling the items out, I realized I was right. Dresses that looked like they were from the late 40's and 50's filled the box. Lovely, but definitely not my cup of tea, I placed them back in the box and set it aside, they would need to go to the dry cleaners before going on the racks in the shop.

The next box was mostly accessories, hair clips, and necklaces, Bakelite bangles in a variety of colors, shapes and designs. That could go out now. I set that box away from the first one and started in on the third.

As I opened and sorted the boxes, I found myself wondering about the new neighbors. Was it just Track Pants and Dogzilla, or was there the quaint little family? Not that it mattered, so many people came and went here, I'd had seven sets of neighbors in the almost seven months I'd been in Capeside. This place was like the consoler of the lonely, a breeding ground of people with broken hearts and shattered dreams. Take crazy Esme for example. The love of her life was burned to a crisp in a house fire fifteen Christmases ago. She came to Capeside after his death, set up shop, never got over her love and never left.

Mrs. Goff who owned the bakery across the street, her husband got pulled in by a riptide and drowned in the ocean down in California. Brokenhearted, she fled here as well. Perhaps it was something in the air, or the fact that misery loves company. Hell, maybe Capeside was the secret location of the devil's playground. He liked to collect the souls of brokenhearted lovers and watch us suffer. Either way, it just seemed as if everyone here had some kind of story.

At six that night, after the last box had been emptied and the jewelry and accessories put on display, I loaded the box of stuff for the dry cleaner into my car and said good night Esme and Petals.

The night was cool as I drove down Main Street heading toward home the content feeling from day fading with the sun. The sadness began creeping back in as night pulled her starry cloak across the sky.

When I pulled into my driveway, the moving van was gone; a muddy ford F-150 was in its place. I shut the engine off and grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. The lights were on in the house next door and faint music was playing, drifting out the open windows. As I got closer to my own house, the music grew louder – a rocking bluesy song, and the gritty voice of a man singing about a full moon.

I smiled, wishing my life could be that simple, that happy, and let myself into the house. The day was long, I was tired. I wanted a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

Dropping my keys into the bowl on the sideboard and hanging my purse on the coatrack, I kicked my shoes off and wandered into the kitchen, eyeing the coffeepot. No, I decided. I need something a little bit stronger than coffee and opened the fridge for the half empty bottle of Merlot in the back.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio, the sea breeze ruffling my hair. I sat down in my favorite chair, the one that looked out over the ocean, and poured myself a glass of wine.

A rustling in the bushes along the fence caught my attention and dogzilla came bounding across my yarn with that slobbery tennis ball gripped tightly between his teeth.

"Zeus!" a man's voice called out, cutting through the music. "Zeus, where the hell did you run off to?"

"He's over here," I called back, setting the glass down.

Track Pants appeared at the edge of the bushes, his face twisted into a mask of irritation and embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said. "He got out before I had a chance to put a leash on him. I hope he wasn't bothering you."

"Oh no," I said with a smile. "Don't worry about it, he's just a dog. He didn't know what he was doing."

"It won't happen again," Track Pants said, eyeing the dog. Zeus dropped his head and wiggled under the bushes back to his own yard.

"No worries. I think he just wanted to introduce himself. I'm Leah, by the way."

"Zeus," he said, pointing behind him. "I'm Paul. We just moved in this morning."

"Yeah I saw that. Well, welcome to Capeside."

"Thanks. Well, sorry my dog interrupted your evening. Like I said, it won't happen again. Have a good night."

"You too," I replied and picked up my glass. Track Pants, I mean Paul, turned and headed back toward his own patio. Thank you, I thought. Now please leave me alone so I can enjoy my misery in private. I sipped the wine and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table beside the chaise.

Night had fully settled on the beach. I closed my eyes and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. The waves crashed along the shore, drowning out the other sounds of the night. As I listened to the pounding, one of the last lines from the first song I heard this morning played in my head:

_So here we are, witching hour, the quickest turn to divide and devour. Divide and devour. _

Starting line came from the 30 Seconds To Mars song, _Alibi._

The Scientist by Coldplay

Forever by Breaking Benjamin

The Moon Is Full by The Jeff Healey Band


	2. Chapter 2

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Two – Half of Something Else

Paul

The steaks that I had planned on grilling sat on the stove top as I paced the kitchen, embarrassed. Zeus sat in the corner glancing at me woefully.

"Why are you so damn nosy?" I snapped at him. "You can't go roaming the neighborhood looking for her. She's gone. Do you remember what that means?"

Zeus shook his head, his yellow ears flopping against his skull.

"Of course you don't," I muttered. "You're a dog and I'm the fool standing here talking to you like you know what the hell I'm saying." I grabbed a box of aluminum foil out of a box on the floor beside the counter and wrapped the steaks up, tossing them into the freezer.

Slamming the freezer door shut, I turned around and took stock of the stacks of boxes piled up at every turn. I had no idea when I was going to get this all done. Between moving and starting work the next morning I was going to have little time to do anything.

Hell, I didn't really even know what I was doing here. I mean, I _know_ why I was here, but I don't know why I chose Capeside of all places to retreat to.

_Because the city was too much, _my subconscious replied. _Everywhere you looked it reminded you of her. _

That was true. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, it seemed like Angela's presence lingered in every nook and cranny. The day I saw her and Ben leaving Abbey Road, a small café in the heart of Seattle, the same place she and I had our first date, I knew it was time to go.

While things ended on the more amicable side between us, it was still like a punch to the gut to see her with someone else so soon. That night, the one after I saw Angela, my uncle called, he had an opening on his fishing boat and would I like the job?

I said yes without thinking. I packed up my apartment and left the city for the tiny idyllic town of Capeside the following morning. I stopped about an hour north of the coastal town, my body racked with panic. I just left my apartment, my job, my entire life – well, what was left of it at least, for what? God only knew and he wasn't talking at the moment.

I thought about turning around, heading back to Seattle and doing the manly thing – sucking it up. I pulled my cell phone out of the glove box and dialed my uncle.

"Paul," he said, his voice practically pleading. "I _need_ you. I'm already shorthanded as it is. If you bail, there's no way I'm going to make it. Just come for the season, help me out and if you decide the life of a smalltime fisherman isn't what you want, I'll shut my yap and let you go."

"I don't even have a place to stay," I told him. "I rushed into this without thinking, without planning. I don't have a plan."

"You can stay at one of the houses I rent, its empty right now, and it's on the beach. I'll even let you live there, rent free. See problem solved. As for your plans, man, you've got nothing but time on your hands for your plans. Live life for a while, and then start making plans."

I gave in then and put the moving van back on the highway, closing the distance between myself and my new life in Capeside. I arrived in the sleepy town early this morning, fog rolled in off the ocean casting the street in a creepy light.

As I began unpacking the moving van, the street came to life, men and women leaving for work, babysitters arriving, dogs barking, kids shrieking from inside houses on either side of me. Then I saw her, the neighbor, Leah, I reminded myself of her name, leaving for work, her dark hair fluttering in the breeze. She looked pissed as she slammed the car door and almost backed into her mailbox, but underneath the pissy exterior laid the face of a woman who could be beautiful if she could stop scowling for more than five seconds. Even tonight, beneath the cool exterior of a woman hiding herself from God only knows what, she was gorgeous. It surprised me how easily I could find another woman so attractive so soon.

_Oh please_, the darker side of my sub-consciousness muttered. _Put it the fuck away already. You came here for solidarity, not pussy. _

Shaking my head, I walked down the short hall and began wearily climbing the stairs. The boxes would have to wait; I was too damn exhausted to even try to begin unpacking.

When I entered the bedroom, the California king bed sat in the middle of the room, devoid of sheets and blankets. Sighing wearily, I threw myself down and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the fan casting a dancing shadow in the lamp light. As I closed my eyes, I prayed that exhaustion would keep the memories at bay, but instead seemed to do the opposite. Flashes of what was supposed to be my wedding day flickered like candlelight in a dark room before my eyes. I could smell the Murphy's Oil and see my best friends all gathered around, crystal tumblers raised in congratulatory fashion, their words echoing in my ears.

"Enjoy it while you can," one sang.

"Yeah, you're last few moments as a free man."

I saw myself chuckle at them, thinking that they had no idea what they were talking about, marrying Angela was going to be the highlight of my life, and hell the years that were still to come could only get better. Then I heard the faint knock at the door and my stomach dropped.

I watched as I set the glass down and stood up, knees shaking slightly from nerves, and crossed the room. Opening it, I saw Angela's father standing on the other side. He looked down as I smiled at him. "I'm afraid there's a complication," he said softly so as not to alert my groomsmen.

I glanced at him, my face a mask of confusion and alarm.

"Angela, I'm, um." Mr. Weber fumbled for the right words to say, the easiest way to break the news. "Perhaps you should just come with me."

I nodded mutely and followed him into the hall of the church and down past door after door until he stopped in front of one at the end. He knocked softly and the door was opened by Angela's mom.

She stepped aside, allowing us access to the room. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the wedding dress still hanging on its hanger in the corner. Then I saw Angela, sitting in front of a vanity table, her long dark hair in a causal ponytail, wearing a pair of jeans and a pale pink tee shirt. She glanced up at me, her eyes sad.

"Hi Paul," she said softly. "Come sit down, I think we need to talk."

I don't remember crossing the room or sinking unsteadily into a chair beside her. I didn't notice her parents quietly slip out of the room. "What's going on Ang?"

She wrung her hands and stared into her lap. "I, I can't do this," she said softly.

"You can't do what Ang?"

"This, the wedding…I just can't do it Paul."

"Okay," I said slowly. "That's fine. Forget all those people out there, shit fuck 'em all. Let's just leave, right now. We can leave, get on the plane and go to Honolulu and drink fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. We don't need to get married." Even to my own ears my voice sounded desperate, pleading, and unable to accept the reality that she was suggesting.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "That's not what I mean."

"I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"I can't marry you. That's what I'm saying. And I don't mean today or next year, I mean ever. I can't do it."

"Is there someone else?" I asked automatically.

Tears filled Angela's eyes as she nodded slowly. "I never cheated on you," she began, "but there's something there between us, something I haven't felt for a long time with you. I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did, and I can't marry you."

I sat there processing what she had just said to me. There was someone else, but she waited until now, until today, to tell me. I opened my mouth to speak, but there were no words to explain what I was thinking, the uproar of tumultuous emotions rolling around inside of me.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I really am."

"It's okay," I replied numbly.

"Paul…"

"No really," I said forcefully. "Its fine, I'll, uh, I guess I'll go let everyone know that there isn't going to be a wedding here today and then I guess I'll come get my stuff from your place whenever you want. Just, um, just let me know, okay?"

Angela smiled her face showing the relief she must feel. I wasn't sure what she expected me to do, maybe throw something, or yell but I just sat there absorbing the news. "Okay," she said softly.

We sat there, in the small room that smelled faintly of rose and lavender, for what seemed like eternity before the door opened and Mr. Weber poked his head in. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," I said nodding. "Everything is fine. I was just about to go." I stood and crossed the room, stopping in the doorway. I turned back to her and said, "If anything ever changes, if you ever changed your mind, or if you ever need anything, you call me."

Angela nodded silently, tears shining in her dark eyes. "I will," she whispered hoarsely.

The vision of her faded as the door shut behind me. I took a deep breath, tears sliding down the sides of my face immediately making me feel weak; a fool. She stood there and told me she was in love with another man and I told her to call me if she ever needed anything.

My weakness when it came to her set rage aflame inside my soul. She made me look foolish, standing in front of 200 people as I told them there had been a change of plans, my face flushing as the guests murmured, rumors flying from wagging tongues.

Goddamn it, I thought angrily. STOP thinking about her. The angry exclamation served to only open the vaults contained within my memory, memories and mental pictures flying forth like the evils of the world released from Pandora's Box.

I lay on the bed, as anger and pain rocked my body, unable to ebb the flow of memories. I closed my eyes and let them have me, let myself wallow in the pain and seethe with anger until the ferryman came and whisked me off to the land of black nothingness that was sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Three - None The Wiser

Leah

After Track Pants and Dogzilla disappeared back into their side of the yard, I collected my wine and headed back inside. The dull ache in my chest had escalated to full on pain. It would be a few hours at least until I could sleep. The night was the worst. The pain seemed to intensify in the quiet, lonely hours. It started out as a buzzing, humming quietly in the background, barely loud enough for you to even hear, let alone register. Then it would begin to intensify until it was roaring in your ears, the pain and the loneliness, all screaming horrible things at you, echoes of words long since spoken and the buzzing of what if's until you felt as if you were drowning in it.

The what if's were the absolute worst. I could literally spend hours lying in bed at night going over the what ifs, mapping them out, trying to pinpoint exactly where I went wrong and how I could have fixed it? Eventually, the struggle to keep fact separate from fiction would overtake me; weigh me down until I had no other choice but to succumb to sleep.

And upon awakening, I would find a new day shining through my bedroom windows, bright and happy, egging me back to the brink of surviving. That's what we did, the kindred fellowship of souls with broken hearts, we didn't live, we survived, gasping for breath as the clock ticked on, counting down the hours until we could be alone again to wallow in our self-pity.

I laid in bed for hours that night, listening to the sounds of the ocean, a dog barking up the street, a cat hissing. Occasionally, a car would purr quietly down the street, and a voice could be heard calling a soft good bye over the slamming of the door.

Sometime after one, soft rain began to fall, adding its own noise to the soundtrack of the night. I listened to it falling, as my thoughts unwillingly travelled to Sam. I rolled over in the bed and snuggled up to the pillow lying beside me. My heart ached as I wished for his arms around me, the warm puffs of his breath on my neck. Tears of anguish slid down my cheeks, and I berated myself for being so weak.

I rolled away from the pillow and curled into a ball. How could I still love someone who put me through so much, who hurt me so badly? Was I that weak and starved for love that I was willing to be an emotional slave to someone who so clearly didn't give a rip about how I felt? The self-pity I was wallowing in quickly turned into anger. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stomped out of the dark bedroom and stalked down the hall to the second bedroom.

Flicking the light on, I grabbed a set of gloves off the table inside the door and quickly pulled them on before charging the bag in the corner. "I HATE YOU!" I screamed, punching the heavy black bag in the corner.

"I hate you."

_Punch, punch._

"How could you do this to me?"

_Punch, punch. _

I hit the bag until my anger drained out of me, until sweat poured down my face and mixed with the tears that were streaming down my face.

"Why did you do this to me, Sam?" I cried, sinking to the floor. Raising my hands to my face, I cried into them until I felt like I had no more tears left. And then, only then, did I lie down on the floor, close my eyes, and sleep.

00000

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows. I rolled over, blinking against the glaring beams blinding me through my closed eyes. My head swam as I sat up, pounding as if I'd had too much to drink last night.

Groaning, I pulled the gloves off and tossed them across the room. With my head pounding, I stumbled into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, reaching for the bottle of aspirin inside. The mornings like this were the worst; they made me actually wish I had been drunk enough to be hung over. I'd take an alcohol induced hangover over an emotional induced one any day of the week.

Popping the lid off the bottle, I swallowed two aspirin, then slowly turned around and cranked the shower on as hot as it would go. Leaving my sweat soaked clothes in a rumpled pile on the floor; I stepped into the tub, the water scalding my skin turning it from a deep bronze to bright pink. I welcomed the pain; it was the only kind I could control.

I washed quickly, then turned the water off, standing in the tub, shivering. Every fiber of my being wanted to go, pick up the phone and call Esme to tell her I wouldn't be coming in today, but I couldn't. It was Saturday. The busiest day of the week, and right now, work would be the best thing for me.

Sighing with resignation, I grabbed the towel off the wall where it hung and wrapped it around me. As I walked into the bedroom, the curtains fluttered in the breeze. I crossed the room and stared out at my watery backyard. Standing in the surf was Track Pants and Dogzilla.

The dog darted in and out of the waves, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he chased after the seagulls crashing into the waves trying to catch their breakfast. Track Pants stood in the water up to his knees, Dogzilla's green tennis ball in his hands. The waves lapped at his calves, licking the hem of his shorts, his tanned back glistening in the sunlight.

Jesus, didn't the man own a shirt? I mean really. I get the fact that it's hot outside, really I do, but come on, just because you have a nice body – I snorted, who the hell was I kidding, nice body didn't even begin to cover it, but come on, just because you have it doesn't mean you have to flaunt it at every turn.

I dropped the curtain and opened the closet, staring into the empty recess. Shit, I thought. I need to stop wallowing in self-pity long enough to do some laundry. The only thing hanging inside that was suitable for work was a vintage V-neck dress, black with wide white stripes and a thin crimson belt.

I hated the dress. It had been a gift from Esme shortly after I came to town. She found it at an estate sale and said it screamed my name. It hung in the closet, untouched until today. Sighing, I pulled it out of the closet and laid it on the bed.

I crossed the room and opened the dresser drawer, rummaging through the content for a slip. With no luck, I grabbed a pair of panties and shut the drawer. Please Lord, I thought as I dressed; please let this day go smoothly.

The dress fell down past my knees, swirling playfully. I turned and glanced over my shoulder into the mirror on the back of the door. At least it didn't look bad. I thought, twirling in the opposite direction, the skirt of the dress swinging to and fro.

Smiling for the first time this morning, I pulled a pair of red peep toe sling backs out of the closet and slid my feet in. The overall effect wasn't too bad. I smiled and clicked into the bathroom, ran a brush through my damp hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, applied some blush and some lip-gloss then headed downstairs.

Grabbing my keys and my purse, I locked the front door and headed down the walk to the car. Through the hedges between the two properties, Dogzilla appeared with that damn grungy tennis ball.

I groaned inwardly and tried to quickly unlock the car before he saw me. It was too late. Dogzilla spotted me and began running full speed toward me. I looked around for an escape route, all the while still trying to shove the key into the lock.

He took a step, then another one, gaining speed as he made a beeline right for me. Track Pants appeared behind Dogzilla, a day or twos worth of scruff peppering his angular jaw. The woman lying dormant, deep down, inside of me swooned as he ran after his dog.

"Zeus!" he hollered. "Stop!"

Dogzilla skidded to a halt a few feet away from me. I breathed a sigh of relief and finally got the key into the door. "I'm sorry," he said, slowing to a stop behind the dog and grabbing his collar. "I don't know what his problem is lately."

"It's called a leash," I replied curtly unlocking the car door and opening it. "Maybe you should get him one."

Track Pants nodded. "Yeah, maybe I should. Anyway, sorry."

I waved dismissively and got into the car. Track Pants – _Paul,_ my subconscious hissed nastily. _His name is Paul_ – jerked the dog toward his house and began talking to him, waving his hands as he went. I started the car and backed out of the driveway.

_You know, it's not his fault his dog likes you_, my subconscious scolded.

_Yeah well, it's kind of a pain in the ass. I don't want some stupid dog following me, no chasing me down, every day. Trust me; fighting off Dogzilla is not how I want to spend the next few months_.

_Wait_, I thought. _I'm carrying on a freaking conversation with myself_. I shook my head. I must be crazier than even I thought.

I reached and flicked on the radio. That whiny Taylor Swift came screeching out of the speakers, boo-hooing about god only knows which one of the five millions guys she's dated in the last two weeks.

_"I go back to December all the time. Turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you, whishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine, I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right. I go back to December all the time."_

"Well goody for you," I muttered jabbing the scan button the radio. It skipped across the frequency, coming to a stop on some catchy rock song. I hit the button again and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat.

Heading through the downtown area, I had to circle the shop twice before I found a parking spot. I got lucky; a man exited the bakery across the street and climbed into a red sedan. I waited for him to pull away and quickly parked my car in the spot.

I waved to Mrs. Goff as I exited the car. She waved me into the bakery with one hand and held up a brown paper bag with the other. Locking the door, I shoved my keys into my bag and hurried into the warm bakery.

"Here darling, I know you didn't eat this morning. Take these, and make sure Esme eats too."

I accepted the bag she was handing over the glass display case. "Thank you. What would we do without you?" I asked her, laughing.

"You'd starve," she shot back, glaring at me over the tops of her glasses.

"You're right. I would."

"It's not funny," she scolded. "Now go to work and have a good day."

"Yes ma'am," I said and gave her a mock salute before heading to the door.

"Oh, Leah," she called. I turned and glanced at her, leaning against the open door. "I love that dress. You remind me of myself thirty something odd years ago."

I smiled at her and said, "Thank you. See you later!" Crossing the street, I pushed open the door to Little Bits of Magic and set the brown paper bag on the counter. "Breakfast," I called. "Courtesy of Mrs. Goff who says we need to start eating."

Esme appeared from the back office, a faint smile on her pretty face. "Whatever would we do without that woman?"

"According to her, we'd starve."

Esme reached into the bag and pulled out a box of muffins, setting on a napkin in front of me, peeling the paper cup off the one in her hand.

"I love your dress," she said, dropping the cup into the trash. "It's very flattering on you."

"Thank you," I said.

"How was your evening?" she asked.

I pulled up a stool and sat down, picking the cap off my muffin. "Long," I said. "A man moved into the house next door. He has this huge yellow dog that seems to like me. Well, at least it thinks I'm nice enough to play catch with. It came crashing into my yard last night and almost mowed me down this morning."

"Ah yes, that's Paul. He's Evan Cordero's nephew from Seattle."

I set the piece of muffin I was about to eat down and stared at her. "How do you know these things?" I asked in disbelief.

"I play bingo with Evan," she said simply. "He told me his nephew was coming down to help him on his boat for the season. Apparently, something terrible happened to him up there in Seattle, and he came down here to get away for a while."

"What do you mean something happened to him? What happened?"

Esme shrugged and tossed a piece of muffin into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know what happened," she said. "Evan didn't say and I didn't ask. Why do you want to know?"

I chewed my muffin quietly. That was a good question. Why did I want to know? Devil's playground, remember, I reminded myself. Of course he has a story, some kind of sullied past. He wouldn't be here if he didn't.

Esme sat on the opposite side of the counter eyeing me suspiciously. "He's good looking isn't he?"

"Who?" I asked, whirling around to see who she was talking about.

"Paul, Evan's nephew. He's good looking isn't he?"

I felt a heat creep into my cheeks. "If you like his type," I said.

Esme raised her eyebrows. "His type?"

"You know, the muscular, watch me walk around without a shirt on because I'm cut like a depressed teenaged girl with a razor blade. Oh and don't forget Dogzilla. Slobbery, gargantuan Dogzilla who doesn't seem to own a leash and likes to trample through the neighbor's yard at all hours of the day and night."

"Oh be nice," she scolded. "He's probably just getting used to the neighborhood. You know, marking his territory and all that jazz."

"Yeah well he can do all that without bothering me, and his owner can do all that with a shirt on."

"Oh stop complaining. If nothing else, it's something nice to look at. Nobody ever said you had to like the man." Esme laughed and hopped down from her stool as a couple walked through the doors. She walked toward them, a smile on her face.

I sat and finished my muffin, then cleaned the mess up and got to work. Customer's drifted in and out of the shop all morning and the subject of Track Pants Hot Body was left alone. For lunch, Esme locked up the shop, and we went across the street to the bakery for lunch. Mrs. Goff smiled as she handed us our sandwiches.

"Come and have seat outside, and we'll visit for a while," she said, untying her apron. The three of us carried our respective lunches out to one of the tables set up on the sidewalk and sat under the red and white striped umbrella.

"How's business?" Esme asked.

Mrs. Goff pointed to the line at the register. "Booming. How's life on your side of the street?"

"Interesting," Esme said with a coy smile.

Mrs. Goff raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Do explain," she commanded and sat back in her seat.

"Miss Leah has a new neighbor," Esme said. "A new neighbor who likes to walk around shirtless."

"Well, I sure as sin hope that it's a man, and not some cheeky little girl showing off her goodies for the entire world to see."

"Oh it's a man, all right. Evan Cordero's nephew, precisely." The pair exchanged a knowing glance.

"I remember him," Mrs. Goff said. "And let me tell you something, if I was younger…well, we'll just leave it at that."

Oh. My. God. I wanted to be embarrassed. No, scratch that, I was embarrassed. She was old enough to be my grandmother – not that she looked it. Mrs. Goff had shoulder length blonde hair and looked a lot like Meryl Streep in It's Complicated. But the fact that she was basically saying she'd sleep with Track Pants was just, ew.

"Oh look," she said, elbowing Esme. "I've embarrassed the poor girl."

"I'm not embarrassed," I retorted. "I just don't get what all the hype is about. He's just some guy, probably a giant asshole who goes around breaking women's hearts because he can." I picked the crust off my sandwich and dropped it on the paper wrapper. "Because he's good looking," I added bitterly.

"I doubt that," Mrs. Goff said. "Didn't you see the proverbial sign around his neck? He's one of us."

I stared quizzically at her. "One of us?"

"The walking wounded," she said matter of fact. "It's strange how we all end up here."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

Mrs. Goff and Esme shared a look, the older woman's expression questioning. "I didn't tell her. It's none of my business," Esme said defensively.

Mrs. Goff rolled her eyes. The woman was gossip through and through. She scooted her chair forward and leaned her elbows on the table in preparation of delivering the most salacious bit of information this side of the pacific. "He was engaged to this girl up in Seattle, high school sweethearts or something like that. Well, on the day of their wedding, she gets a wicked case of cold feet, doesn't show up to the wedding, and he had to go up in front of all their friends and family and tell them that there wasn't going to be a wedding."

"Oh that's terrible," I said softly. Suddenly, I felt bad for being such a bitch to him this morning.

"It gets worse," Mrs. Goff said. "After that, he goes back to their apartment, finds out, she's packed up all her stuff and took her lover on their honeymoon. I heard she married the man she ran off with, and they're living in Honolulu. Then he shows up here. Evan says it's just temporary, you know, to help out with the fishing season. But we know differently."

I sat back in my chair, trying to imagine what he must have gone through, being ditched at your wedding, having to tell your friends and family there was a change of plans and then finding out your fiancé ran off with her lover on what was supposed to be your honeymoon. It sure as hell made what Sam did to me look like a day at Disney World that much was for sure.

"That's terrible," I murmured softly.

"We all have our demons," Esme concurred. She glanced down at her watch. "Oh dear, look at the time. We have to be getting back. Brenda, thank you for lunch as well as the muffins this morning. You're a lifesaver; I don't know what we would do without you."

"Starve," Mrs. Goff laughed. "See you ladies tomorrow."

We tossed our trash into the wastebasket and hurried back across the street to Little Bits of Magic. "Hey Esme, why do you think there are so many heartbroken people here in Capeside?"

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. "I don't know. Maybe it's something in the air, or the water, or maybe it's the cliff lined shores that make them feel safe. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I said. "Just curious, that's all." I crossed the shop and began taking items out of the fitting room and returning them to their rightful places, all the while thinking about Paul. I could only imagine how screwed up he must be. I made a mental note to apologize for my nasty attitude this morning.

Maybe as a peace offering I could stop at the pet store on my way and get him a leash for his dog.

_Yeah_, I thought as I hung a floral print dress on a rack by the door. _That's a great idea. Just be all like, hey sorry I was such a bitch this morning and oh, by the way, here's that leash your dog so desperately needs._

Standing on his porch now, I knew this was probably a really bad idea. I gripped the bag with the leash, and the dog treats tightly in my hand as I waited for him to answer the door. He probably couldn't even hear the doorbell ringing over the very loud singing of 30 Seconds to Mars lead singer Jared Leto.

I had to smile at that, at least he had good taste in music. I gave the doorbell another jab and sighed. Ten more seconds, I told myself, that's how much longer I'll wait. If he doesn't answer then I'll just leave and act like I was never here and he can go on thinking that I'm the world's most evil neighbor. I don't need him trying to be my friend anyway.

The seconds ticked by slowly as I hummed along to the radio. As the chorus ended, I turned and began walking down the path, cutting across the lawn to own my own front porch. The door opened, golden yellow light spilling out into the dusk that was beginning to settle on the lawns, and Track Pants poked his head out_, Closer to the Edge_ filling the night.

"Hey!" he called spotting me. "Did you see any kids run away from my porch?"

"Um no, why?" I shifted the bag in my hands, suddenly nervous.

"They've been doing it all day – ringing the doorbell. It drives Zeus bonkers. Someone was just out here ringing it. I ignored it because I thought it was them."

"That was, uh, that was actually me." I stepped off the porch and headed across the yard to his house. "I wanted to apologize for this morning. I was rude." I held out the bag, it hung in the gap between us before he finally reached out and grabbed it.

"What's this?" he asked, poking his hand into the bag.

"It's for your four legged friend. Like I said, I just wanted to apologize. I was rude."

"No," he said, putting the bag down on the porch. "You were right. Zeus, he's a giant pain in the ass. Nosy as hell too."

"Yeah, I can tell." I laughed automatically. _Knock it off,_ I told myself. "Okay, well, I should probably get going." I pointed down at my feet. "These things are killing me."

Paul smiled; raising his hand to his forehead he raked his fingers through his hair. "Sure, sure. See you around, I guess."

"Yeah, see you." I turned and crossed the lawn, glancing over my shoulder as he climbed his steps and entered his house. _He definitely didn't come across as being heartbroken_, I thought. _Charming as a snake, yes, but heartbroken, no._

I unlocked the front door and kicked off my shoes, sighing in relief as I padded, barefoot, down the hall to the kitchen. I glanced out the window over the sink and caught a glance of Paul in his window. He was standing at the stove, his back to me, playing the drums with a pair of wooden spoons. I smiled and chuckled softly and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the window sill.

I shook one out and headed outside, flopping down on to the chaise. I breathed in the cool night air. Today, for the most part, had been a good day. The first one in a while. I lit the cigarette and exhaled the blue smoke into the thick air.

"Hey," a voice called from the yard next door. I turned and glanced at Paul's darkened figure standing on the patio behind his house. "Have you had dinner yet?"

I sat up and glanced over at him. "No, not yet, why?"

"Isn't that what new neighbors do, have dinner, get to know each other?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I told him.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Yeah," I echoed, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"You know how bad that is for your lungs?" he asked.

"Do you know how much I don't care? I retorted.

"You should care about your health."

"Yeah, well, I don't." I could feel the old anger seeping back in. Sam berated me for smoking too.

"Why do you do that?" Paul asked, coming closer to the hedges.

"Do what?"

"You go from perfectly fine to pissy in record time."

I pushed myself off the chaise and glared at him. "You don't know me," I snapped at him. "So stop standing there acting like you've got me all figured out."

I turned, snubbed the cigarette out and stormed inside the house. _This,_ I thought, glaring out the window, _was going to be interesting_.

000000

Back to December by Taylor Swift

Watch It Burn by Push Play

Closer To The Edge by 30 Seconds to Mars

None The Wiser by The Script

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Please ignore my recent 30 Seconds to Mars infatuation...unless you love the band..lol...hope this chapter finds you guys still enjoying the story. thank you for reading and reviewing.


	4. Chapter 4

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Four - Valhalla

Paul

The scent of cigarettes floated in the air even after Leah stormed into her house, the back door slamming behind her. _What is her problem?_ I thought angrily. She seems to take everything I say to her and twist it out of context. Like her quip this morning about Zeus needing a leash. No shit, the damn dog was out of control as of late; then she shows up on my porch with a little bag – a peace offering, she claimed, with a leash and dog treats inside.

I didn't get her or her blatant aggression toward men. Someone must have done her seriously wrong. That much I understood, but it didn't give her the right to walk around acting like every guy she met was out to get her.

Last night's package of steaks sat beside the grill. I turned the gas down, tossed the steaks on and closed the lid. My feet moved under their own accord as I walked toward and through a small break in the bushes. Fist raised and knocked – well more like pounded – on her back door. The porch light flicked on and the door flew open.

"You're damn right I don't know you," I said before she had the chance to say anything. "But that doesn't mean you've got the right to act like I've pissed on your foot every time we meet. It's rude. And for the record, you don't know me either. I'm trying to be nice to you seeing as how we are going to be neighbors. It wouldn't kill you to try."

Her jaw dropped as she stood there gripping the wooden door looking dumbfounded. Satisfied that my version of shock and awe worked, I turned around and headed back toward the break in the bushes. I'd almost made it back to the safety of my own yard when her voice rang out through the night.

"You're an asshole," she called angrily. "Just thought you should know that, and I don't give a rip about you being my neighbor. You come here and your giant dog harasses me every chance it gets, and you want to lecture me about smoking. I have a father, thank you very much, I don't need one in you, so just leave me the hell alone."

"God some guy must have really fucked you up for you to be so pissed off at the entire male population. What'd he do, huh, sleep with your sister?" it was below the belt, but in the span of two days I'd really had enough of her attitude.

"My cousin, actually," she shot back nastily.

I stopped and glanced at her over my shoulder. "Yeah, well that doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Just leave me alone," she said, her anger simmering, defeat lacing her voice. "I don't want to be friends with you, or have dinner with you or get to know you. I just want to be left alone."

"Suit yourself," I replied nonchalantly. "I guess in your case misery doesn't prefer company."

"No it sure doesn't." Leah turned and walked back into her house, shutting the door quietly behind her.

A few seconds later, music rattled the window panes, sad and haunting. So she had a story, big deal. It didn't give her the right to be so nasty. I had a story too. I didn't go around looking for every opportunity to take it out on her. In fact, I did the complete opposite. I went out of my way to be nice to her.

I sighed and went to the grill to flip the steaks. The rational part of my brain told me that what I just did was out of line, that I should walk back over there and apologize. The other part of my brain, the testosterone filled part, told me that she got what she deserved.

I closed the lid and went inside for a beer, still torn. _She said to leave her alone_, my subconscious offered. _So respect her wishes, leave her alone_. I could do that, I was amazingly flexible at respecting the wishes of women. My mother when she told me that I was a disappointment to her and to stay out of her life, Angela when she told me that I wasn't what she wanted, and now Leah, who wanted me to leave her alone.

Sometimes I really hated being me and right now was one of those moments. With the cold beer in my hand, I went back outside and peeled the burning meat off the grill. Scowling at the charred flesh, I whistled for Zeus, who came trotting out of the back door. "Here," I said dropping the steak into his metal food dish. "You eat this."

Turning off the gas, I went back inside and threw myself down on the worn brown couch. On the coffee table in front of me sat a tall stack of clear DVD cases. I picked up the one on the top of the pile and got up, sliding it into the disc player. Sitting back down, I turned on the television just in time to see my own face, eyes shut, fill the screen.

"Look how handsome he is when he's asleep," Angela said off camera. The camera jiggled a little bit, and she sighed. "You have no idea how much I love you, do you?"

On the screen, my eyelids fluttered, and I muttered something in my sleep. Angela put the camera down on the nightstand and leaned over me, her dark hair masking our faces. On the TV, I saw my arms wrap around her waist and pull her on top of me.

"I love you," she murmured. "I love you."

The old Paul and Angela made love on the TV, all the while murmuring their love for one another. I got up and shut the movie off, tears sliding down my face. _This has to stop, _I told myself_. I have to stop ripping this wound open. I have to stop picking at it. I cannot keep living this way. I can't keep walking around in a daze._ With those thoughts echoing in my head, I grabbed the entire stack of DVDs and carried them into the kitchen then threw them into the trash.  
That was the last night, the last time I let myself feel sorry for the things that were out of my control. I tossed out everything that reminded me of Angela, of my life in Seattle. It hurt and it made me feel a hundred times more alone that I really was, but in some small way, it helped, and before I knew it, I had survived my first week of my new life in Capeside.

The Saturday after my last encounter with Leah bloomed, bright and sunny, a warm breeze blowing in from the east. I looked around the house, thankful that the towers of boxes had finally been cleared away, and it looked as if an actual person lived here. Zeus trotted down the stairs and stopped at the front door, whining. He sat down and glanced at me. "Woof!" he barked. "Woof, woof!"

"Alright hang on, let me grab your leash. We don't want the evil troll queen next door skinning you alive and filleting you bit by bit over the smoldering end of her cigarettes."

Zeus shook his head, the tags on his collar jingling. I went into the kitchen, reached around the wall for the leash. Carrying it back to the foyer, I clipped it to Zeus's collar and opened the front door. The first thing I noticed as we jogged down the steps was Leah sitting behind the wheel of her car, beating the steering wheel violently.

I stopped on the lawn, Zeus yanking on my arm, desperate to start his walk. Should I go over there or should I just keep respecting her wishes and stay away, like she'd asked?

Another angry outburst made my mind up for me. I turned away from her car and headed down the block. As usual, Zeus growled at the neighbor's cat, peed on the white picket fence of the house three doors down and waited to do his business until I hooked him up to the chain in the backyard.

Leah was still sitting behind the wheel of her car when I came back out front. She wasn't beating the steering wheel anymore, tears spilled silently down her face, her mascara running in dark streaks down her high cheek bones.

Sighing, I crossed the lawn and walked around the back of the car. She didn't look up when I knocked on the window. I reached down and opened the door slowly. "Leah?" I said softly. "Is everything alright?"

"My car," she sobbed.

"What's wrong?" I asked, kneeling down beside her.

She threw her hands up. "I don't know. It just won't start." Leah reached down and turned the key, the engine clicked, but would not turn over.

"I can take a look, if you want."

She nodded and pulled the lever. "Thank you," she said, drawing in a shaky breath.

"I'll be right back." Walking around to the front of the car, I opened the hood and peered down at the engine. Fifty different problems jumped out at me at once; bad spark plug wires, belts that needed replacing among other things. I didn't even know where to begin. Leaning around the hood of the car, I said, "Try and start it again."

The engine clicked, but again, did not turn over. _Bad battery_, my subconscious offered. "Leah, turn the lights on." I glanced down at the bright twin beams of the headlights.

"Why did I have to turn the lights on?" she asked.

"It sounds like your battery is dead, but your lights aren't dim, so it can't be the battery."

"What is it then?"

"Maybe the starter, but I can't say for sure. There's a lot of work that needs to be done under the hood." This caused new tears to stream down her face. "No, no, it's not that bad," I said.

"How am I supposed to get to work?" she sobbed. "How am I supposed to get it fixed and still go to work?"

I kicked at a rock in the driveway. _Don't do it, _my subconscious urged_. It's like opening a floodgate. If you offer to take her to work who knows what will be next._

_Shut up_, I retorted mentally. _She's obviously shit out of luck, it's not going to kill me to take her to work._

"I can take you," I told her.

"No," she said automatically. "I'll just call Esme, see if she can swing by and pick me up."

"Are you sure?"

She sat there for a moment.

"Come on, it's just a ride to work. I promise I won't even talk to you. I'll drop you off and then we can go back to acting as if the other doesn't exist."

"It's out of your way," she protested.

"No its not," I lied, "I was actually headed to the grocery store for…bread. Come on."

I could see the internal battle she was fighting, saw her resolve weaken, and saw a few bricks in that wall she'd built up so high around herself begin to fall. "Fine," she sighed and grabbed her bag from the passenger seat.

Thankfully, I had the car keys in my pocket. I jingled them in my hand as I walked around the back of the truck to the passenger side and opened the door for Leah. She shot me a look of great disdain as she climbed into the cab. I shut the door and hurried around the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.

"_CRASH, CRASH, BURN-"_

"Sorry," I said over the roar of the music and quickly turned it down.

"It's okay, I actually like this song," she said, her cheeks tinged with the faintest pink. "They're a great band," she replied.

I smiled and backed down the driveway. I didn't believe her for a second. _She's just trying to play nice,_ I told myself. But then, as I slowed to a stop sign at the end of the street, I saw her lips moving and heard her faintly singing the song.

We rode without speaking, her softly whispering the words to the songs that played, me tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. When I entered the downtown area, she directed me to the shop where she worked. As I pulled alongside the curb, she looked at me and said, "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Do you need a ride home?"

"Oh no," she said quickly. "I'll find a ride."

"I can pick you up, it's not a problem."

She shook her head adamantly. "I'll be fine, thanks." She grabbed her purse handle and opened the truck door. "See you around."

"Leah," I said. "Wait. Let me pick you up. You need a ride. It won't kill you to accept one."

"I said I'll be fine," she said tersely. "Bye." Slamming the car door, she hurried into the shop without looking back.

"Whatever," I muttered and turned the radio back up. Why did I even care if she had a ride? I wondered. What was it about her that made me go absolutely stupid trying to get her to like me.

I sat in the idling truck, staring through the plate glass windows of Little Bits of Magic, watching Leah walk behind the counter , turn and say something to her boss. She ran her hands through her hair and shrugged. The older woman turned and glanced out the window, a coy smile on her lips as she glanced at my muddy pickup.

Why the hell was she so stubborn?

Almost as if responding to the question, the radio answered. _"It's a test, it's a game, did you pass? Play again."_

**00000**

Soooo...whatchya thinking? Love it, hate it, lemme know :)

'Til next time lovelies!

Valhalla - 30 Seconds to Mars


	5. Chapter 5

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Five - Lapse

Leah

"Quil and I are coming down there," Claire said. In the background, I could hear her shuffling around, drawers sliding open and shut, the creak of the closet door.

"You guys don't have to come," I protested, peeking out the office door to make sure there were no customers wandering around the unattended shop.

"Well, we're heading that way anyway. It won't kill him to stop in Capeside, so I can see my best friend."

"It would be nice," I said smiling. "I haven't seen you since I left."

"I know," Claire replied in her singsong voice. "It wouldn't kill you to come back to Seattle for a visit."

I laughed scornfully. "It just might," I replied, unable to keep the snarky edge out of my voice.

"Leah," Claire sighed, "it's about damn time you got over the whole Sam and Emily thing. You have to start living your life eventually. This isn't something you can hold on to forever."

She was right, of course, but being bitter and clinging to the past was so much easier than moving beyond it. Being miserable was so much easier than being happy. Happiness required too much energy, especially since misery was wonderful to wallow in sometimes.

"I know," I told her, "and I'm trying, it's just not easy to get over what Sam did to me; what Emily did to me."

"Yeah, but it happened, they're together now. It is what it is, deal with it."

"Jesus, Claire, could you be more heartless?"

"Yeah, I could. You ran off to that Godforsaken town, no one's seen you, let alone heard from you in like seven months, for all we know you could've drowned yourself in the ocean and no one, not your parents or your friends, would have known. I get being hurt, trust me. I understand that you needed time to deal with what happened, but you just dropped everything and went off the map. You had your time to be hurt, to grieve, and deal with it. Now you have to grab life by the balls and start living it again. You have to at least try. Promise me you'll try."

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll try. There are you happy?"

"I'll be happy when I know you're happy. Now, do you want us to come see you or not?"

"Of course I want you to come see me. I miss you. When are you guys coming?"

"Next Friday. We'll stop in, spend a few days with you, then we're headed to California for a week. Quil's taking me to Disneyland for our anniversary."

"Okay, I'll make a reservation somewhere. We can go out to dinner and catch up."

"Sounds fun."

The bell attached to the door jingled, and an older couple wandered into the store. "Alright sweetie, I'll see you next week. I've got to go now. Customers just came into the shop."

"Okay, see you Friday!"

"Bye," I said and hung up. I set the phone back in the charger and entered the shop. "Hello, how are you today?" I said to the couple.

"Fine," the woman answered, "I heard you carry all these quaint little odds and ends, the woman in the bakery across the street suggested we stop by before we head back home."

"Well, take a look around; if you need any help just let me know." I went behind the counter and glanced up at the clock. Thirty minutes until close and I had no idea how I was getting home. I guess if I had to, I could go across the street and see if Mrs. Goff was still there and could give me a ride. I mentally kicked myself for not taking Paul up on his offer to give me a ride home.

_Oh well_, my subconscious sighed. _You don't need to be hanging around him. He's bad news and we both know it._

_Why?_ I fired back. _Because he's trying to be nice, and I'm too much of a bitch to accept his help or his friendship._

_Why is he being so nice to you? _She fired back._ Why is he all too willing to go out of his way to help you, especially since you've been nothing but nasty to him?_

_Maybe that's just the kind of person he is. Maybe he likes helping people. I don't know. _

_Yeah, and maybe he's a serial killer who's just trying to win you over so he can cut up your body and feed the chunks to that psychotic dog of his, _my subconscious replied_._

_Or maybe _I'm_ the crazy one, _I thought back_. Once again, I'm having a conversation with myself, which is just dumb. _

The older couple approached the register with a few little odds and ends. I smiled and began ringing them up, cashed them out and bagged their items. After they left with their purchases, I went to the door and locked it. As I flipped the open sign to close, I looked out the window and saw a muddy pickup parked alongside the curb, the silhouette of a man behind the wheel.

_What is he doing here?_ I wondered. A trill went up my spine as he turned and smiled at me. Scowling, I turned away from the window and stalked back to the counter where my purse was stashed and grabbed it. I flicked off the lights, tiny motes of dust sparkling in the fading glow of the sun. A blast of cool ocean air ruffled my hair as I pulled the shop door open. I shoved my key into the door and turned the lock, the tumblers sliding into place with a click, behind me, a car full of teenage girls rolled by, the occupants singing a Katy Perry song the top of their lungs. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I fought the urge to start dancing on the sidewalk.

I pulled the keys from the door and started toward Paul's truck. The window slid down as I approached. "What are you doing here?" I snapped at him.

"Well you wouldn't tell me what time you got off, so I called the shop and your boss told me."

_Damn you, Esme, and your meddling ways_, I thought. "So?" I said to Paul. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

"She also told me that she was leaving early, and you didn't have a way home."

I fought the urge to strangle the both of them and scowled at him. "As a matter of fact, a matter of fact I do have a ride actually."

"Oh yeah? With who?"

"Why is it any of your damn business?"

Paul sat there for a second and stared at me, obviously trying to come up with an answer. When none came, he shrugged and started the truck. "Suit yourself." He put the truck into gear and began pulling slowly away from the curb.

I tapped my foot. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He was about to pull into oncoming traffic when I yelled, "Wait!"

The brake lights lit up, and the truck stopped. I heaved a deep breath and walked toward the truck, pulled open the door and hopped inside. "Don't say a word," I muttered through clenched teeth as I buckled my seatbelt.

Paul smiled smugly and pulled into traffic, slowing to a stop at the red traffic light. I sat back in the seat and stared out the window. He'd traded the rocky edge of 30 Seconds to Mars for something a little lighter, something I didn't recognize. He sat in the driver's seat, one arm on the door, dangling out the window, the other tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel.

Downtown faded, giving way to the urban sprawl, which ultimately faded into the quiet reaches of the sea. Twilight lingered just beyond the horizon, the sun refusing to give the sky over to her paler sister.

"Can I speak now?" he finally asked once parked in the driveway, the sound of the rumbling engine and the faint crashing of waves on the shore the only sound in the night.

"It depends," I told him.

"On?"

"On whether or not you have something important to say."

"Well it's about your car. Do you deem that an important topic of conversation?" I nodded and waited for him to continue. "I have a friend. He works on the boat with my uncle, he's a mechanic. I called him after I dropped you off this morning. He can come by and look at your car in the morning, determine what's wrong with it and fix it for cheap."

"How cheap?"

Paul shrugged and leaned down to shut the truck off. The quiet stillness of the night buzzed loudly in my ears. "I dunno. It just depends on what's wrong with it."

I sighed_. It needed to be fixed, _I thought_, and if he has a friend who's willing to come look at it, well why look a gift horse in the mouth_. "What time?" I asked quietly.

"Say around one. Is that a good time for you?"

I nodded and grabbed my purse handle. "That's fine." We sat there in silence for a moment. "Well, thanks for the ride. And thanks, for calling your friend. I, um, appreciate it."

Paul nodded. "No problem."

I reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Paul opened his door, and before I had the chance to get out of the car, he was on my side opening the door. I stepped out and slid past him. He reached for my arm, grasping my wrist between his fingers. "Wait," he said. I stood there and looked up at him, his dark eyes peering into mine. The air around us buzzed, alive with promise and possibility. I shook my head and glanced down at the ground, swallowing hard. His hand was warm around my wrist. I looked at my shoes, waiting for him to say something; say something or let me go.

"Never mind," he said. "Have a good night."

My skin was cool as he let go of my wrist. "Yeah," I said rather stupidly. "You too."

Paul turned and walked toward his house. I stood there beside the truck staring at his retreating back feeling very confused. _What just happened here?_ I asked my subconscious. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled smugly at me. _What just happened here, _she said in a presumptuous voice_, was that he was thinking about kissing you._

On the porch Paul opened his front door and disappeared inside.

_No way. No freaking way. Why would he want to do that? I'd purposefully gone out of my way to keep him at one arms distance. _

_Maybe he's a masochist who likes it when women are nasty to him_, my subconscious replied.

_And maybe you need to shut the fuck up_, I retorted. Crossing behind the truck, I passed my own hulking vehicle, looming eerily in the driveway and climbed the steps of the porch. I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, dropping my keys and purse on the table.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless from the counter and dialed Claire in Seattle. As the phone rang, I went back to my purse and grabbed the pack of cigarettes, lit one and took a deep drag. On the fourth ring, Claire answered with a breezy, "hello?"

"Hey," I said, blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air. "It's Leah, are you busy?"

"No, what's up, is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, I just…I needed to talk."

"What happened?"

I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Okay, so I told you about my car and how the guy next door took me to work this morning. Well tonight as I was closing the shop, he was sitting outside waiting for me."

"Creepy," Claire said.

"Eh, well, a little. But that's not it. So we're driving home and when we get there, I go to get out of the truck and he goes all Leave it to Beaver, opens the door for me and as I'm about to walk away, he's all like, "wait" grabs my wrist and we stand there staring at one another."

"And?" Claire asks, curiosity oozing through the phone line.

"And that's just it, we're standing there staring at one another, I'm waiting for him to let me go and he's standing there looking at me like he's waiting for permission."

"Permission for what?"

"I have no idea! Like five more seconds pass, and then he's all like, ""never mind," lets me go and walks into his house."

"He's into you; why else would he have come back to the store to pick you up. I say you go over there now and have hot, steamy, meaningless sex with him."

"You would say that. I'm just confused is all. I mean, I don't want a relationship, even if it is just friendship, with a man. It's just messy. You can't be just friends with a guy."

"Of course you can't," Claire agreed. "But you can sure as hell have meaningless sex with them."

"I don't want meaningless sex," I told her.

"Of course you do, you just don't know it yet."

I sighed. "You are absolutely no help. You know that right."

"Oh I'm helping, it's just not the advice that you want to hear so therefore I'm not helping. It's like I told you earlier, Lee-lee. You need to get over Sam. You need to stop wallowing in what he did to you, and you need to let it go. Why not let it go with this guy. He could be good for you."

"Yeah and so could cocaine, but you don't see me going around getting high."

"You know what I mean. Be nice to him for Christ's sake. He might actually turn out to be one of the few remaining decent men on the planet."

"He has someone coming to look at my car tomorrow; took it completely upon himself to do so too."

"Point proven then. Not all men are out to get you. Would Sam have ever done something like that?"

"I don't know. No." I sighed. "I'm too old for this."

Claire laughed. "It is what it is chicky."

"Sure is," I agreed. "Okay, well, I've wasted enough of your night. Go have fun with your husband. I'll see you next week."

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I stubbed out the smoldering cigarette. I really did need to kick this habit. Half the time I left the damn things smoking themselves. It was a huge waste of money, money I might not have after paying to repair the car.

I went to the refrigerator, pulled out lunchmeat and condiments, and fixed myself a sandwich then went to the living room and turned on the radio, needing to let loose and have a little fun. The Red Hot Chili Peppers filled the house. I finished the sandwich and went upstairs to change out of my work clothes.

In the bedroom, I stared into the mirror and, for the first time since moving to Capeside, wished I had friends. I never realized it before, but I was lonely. I wanted to go out, spend time with just the girls, drink martinis, and gossip. And I couldn't. I didn't have friends. Not only didn't I have friends, I had no idea how to make some.

I sighed and changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. On the radio downstairs, the same Katy Perry song from earlier began, and I started dancing. I went back downstairs and turned the radio up, grabbing the remote off the coffee table; I used it as a microphone and danced around the living room as I sang along.

I shook my booty to the catchy music, dropping the remote as I really got into it, singing, and dancing around the house. As the last strains of song faded from the radio, I caught my breath and realized how light I felt. The high continued as Adam Levine crooned about being miserable.

I danced my way to the kitchen and grabbed a soda. Cracking it open, I took a long swallow and continued hopping and bopping around the kitchen. I wanted this to last forever, the happy, nothing can ever make me cry again feeling.

Picking up my soda, I went to the living room, and turned the radio down, grabbed a book from the yet to read side of the bookshelf and threw myself down on the couch. With the radio playing softly, I delved into the Carl Hiaasen novel_, Skinny Dip_.

**00000**

"It's a bad starter," the man named Jared said, leaning against the hood of my car. His greasy black fingers hooked through the belt loops of his equally dirty jeans. "Won't be too hard or too expensive to fix. You also need a tune up desperately. The damn spark plug wires look like the ones that were on the car the day it rolled out of the factory."

"Is that bad?" I asked, feeling chastised and slightly stupid.

Paul nodded. "You're supposed to change them every so often. It's not a big deal, though. We'll take care of that too."

"So…what now?"

"Now, we go to the parts store and get what we need."

"Right now?" I asked.

"You want your car fixed?"

"Yes," I replied tersely.

"Then yes, right now."

"Oh, okay. I'll go grab my purse." I ran back inside and grabbed my bag from the table by the door and headed back outside. A pretty woman who looked to be the same age as me was talking to Paul and Jared when I walked toward the car.

The three of them looked up as I approached. "Hi," the woman said warmly. "You must be Leah; I'm Kim, Jared's wife."

"Nice to meet you."

"Are you ready?" Paul asked me.

"Yes."

"Let's go then," Jared said, heading toward the SUV parked on the street.

"We're going to barbeque later this afternoon; would you like to join us?" Kim called to me as I followed Jared and Paul down the driveway.

Jared kept walking, not paying much attention, but Paul slowed, as if trying to hear my response. Torn, I shrugged. She was offering only to be polite, I wasn't really welcome. Kim took my shrug as a yes and said, "Great. I'll make sure to set a place for you."

I gave her an uncomfortable nod and hurried toward the waiting SUV. The trip to the auto parts store took less time and less money than I thought it would, and before I knew it, I was standing in Paul's backyard with Kim. She was tossing that grimy tennis ball to Zeus, and drinking a bud lite from a bottle.

"How long have you lived here?" she asked after tossing the ball into the surf.

"Almost a year," I replied, watching Zeus dive headfirst into a wave. "How long have you known Paul?"

"I've only known him for a couple of years now. He and Jared went to school together. They've been friends forever. I know he's had a rough time these last few months. Coming here was supposed to be a way for him to get away from everything."

"You mean his ex-fiancé running off with her lover."

Kim raised her eyebrows and smiled a smile I was all too familiar with. It was the kind that said in not so many words that she wished harm to the woman. "Tongues sure do wag in Small-town, USA."

I shrugged. "What else is there to do?"

"You have a point," she said. "Though Angela, that's her name. She didn't run off with her lover."

"Oh?" So the story Esme and Mrs. Goff had spun wasn't a hundred percent accurate.

"Yeah, the day of their wedding she pulls him aside and tells him that she can't marry him, that she's met someone else. It was a shitty thing for her to do, but it was better than her waiting until after they'd been married to walk out on him. Needless to say, it still did a number on Paul. He was so angry for so long, hell he still is, but I think he's finally starting to accept it and move on."

I didn't know what to say, not that there was anything to say. Zeus emerged from the surf and bound back up the shore toward us. He dropped the ball at me feet and nudged it toward me. I bent down and scooped it up, the sand gritty between my fingers as I heaved the tennis ball back down the beach.

"So how about you, what are you doing here in the land of lost souls and broken hearts?"

I sighed and shrugged. "Same thing kinda. I'm a member of the tribe." I tapped my chest where my heart beat steadily within. "You can't see it, but there's a gaping wound lying just beneath the surface." I glanced down at the perfectly smooth flesh. "It's funny, you know, for as bad as it hurts, there should be a mark there, something to let the world know that I had my heart ripped out recently."

"Flesh is funny that way," Kim said. "Pain, though, is mostly mental. We think it's our heart that doesn't forget, that doesn't heal, but it's our heads. It's the fact that we keep thinking about it, that we wonder what if we'd done something differently. The constant replaying of events, that rewinding and slowing down as if peering through the images, searching for a trigger, a warning sign to let us know danger lies ahead." She paused for a moment, images of what if flickering in her eyes. It made me wonder what her story was. "So who took away your ability to forget?"

"My ex-boyfriend. It's a long story, one I don't really feel like talking about."

She nodded, her lips pursed. "Okay. I won't pry. But if you ever decide you want to talk about it, I'll listen. Sometimes that's all you need."

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate that."

The sound of the back door alerted us to the return of Paul and Jared, the pair of them exiting the house. "I need your keys," Paul said. "We got the starter in. I just need to see if it works."

"Yeah sure, I'll go get them."

I cut through the bushes and entered my house through the back door. I grabbed my keys from my purse and took them back to Paul. He leaned into my car and inserted the key into the ignition. As he turned it, the car groaned to life.

"There you go," he said and shut the car off. He handed the keys back to me and shut the car door. "Good as new."

"Thank you," I said accepting the keys. "I don't know what I would have done if there was something more wrong."

"No problem, just glad I could help."

"How can I ever repay you?"

"Well I do believe you accepted an invitation to barbeque. You can still come over, have a couple of pieces of chicken, maybe a beer or two, and hang out for a while."

Gripping the keys tightly in my hand, I fought against the urge to offer some half-hearted excuse. Kim's words about pain being metal echoing in my head. You can't forget if you don't ever try, my subconscious offered, a very different song from the one she'd been previously singing.

Fight or flight was duking it out, in my head, and in my stomach. Stay or go, stay or go. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to stay home, to stay away from this man and his dark eyes and chiseled jaw. He was bad for business; nothing good would come of me going over there, which is precisely why I said, "Let me go put these up, and I'll be right over."

Paul smiled, the faintest hints of relief coloring those betraying eyes of his. "Okay, good. Well, we'll be waiting for you."

That same unexplainable tingle crept up my spine as he smiled again and turned to walk away. I had no idea what the hell I was getting myself into. I relaxed my grip on the keys and took them back inside, walked through the house and out the back door.

The mood next door was festive. The back door was open, two huge speakers sat in the kitchen, pouring out healthy doses of upbeat music. The grill sat, smoke and barbequing meat permeating the night making my mouth water. Kim was seated at the table, a brown bottle in front of her.

She smiled as I stepped through the bushes. "Hey, glad you decided to come back. There's drinks in the fridge, help yourself."

"Hey Jared, when'd your wife move into my house?"

Jared laughed and rolled his eyes. "Ignore him," he said to me.

"Yeah, ignore me. No, I'm just messing with you. Like Kim said, help yourself. Me casa, su casa."

I sat down across from Kim and stared out at the ocean. I expected it to feel awkward, sitting here with two strangers and a man who my only interaction with had been hostile, but it was the complete opposite. They kept the conversation light and playful, talking about Paul and Jared's upcoming fishing expedition.

As the night grew later, Kim yawned and said, "I think it's time for us to head out."

Jared nodded. "Thanks for the company man. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, thanks for coming by."

Jared and Kim left, holding hands as they disappeared through the gate. "You leaving too?"

I shrugged. "I probably should be going. I have to work in the morning."

Paul began gathering up the remaining empty soda cans and bottles of beer. "Okay then." He stood and carried the trash to the can by the back door.

I stood up, picked up the plates, and followed him, dropping them into the bin. "Thanks for fixing my car," I said, standing beside him awkwardly.

"No problem. Come on, I'll walk you to the bushes."

I smiled and headed toward the break in the foliage with Paul behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body on the small of my back. At the gap, I stopped and turned around. "Really," I said glancing up at him. "I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"I did what I could. But you're welcome. Again."

"Okay, well, good night."

As I made my way toward the house, he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward him, my chest colliding with his. His left arm snaked around my waist, holding me against him head angled down close to mine, so close I could smell the lingering hints of beer on his breath. My heart beat rapidly against my ribcage. Stupidly I closed my eyes and leaned in closer to him, our lips touching, sparks flying in the night.

I fought to breathe, to swallow, to think. He took advantage of my inability to move and slipped his tongue into my mouth, running it over mine. My head swam, the kiss deepening. Sense was forgotten. The warmth of his hand left my back, travelled across the thin material of the tee shirt I wore and settled on my waist, his other hand cupping my jaw. My arms, which previously hung limp at my side, slide up his chest and around his neck. Fingers wove themselves into his hair and pulled him closer toward me.

_Oh my god what am I doing? _

The thought exploded across the forefront of my mind, and I quickly pulled away from him. "Oh god," I gasped. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry. I have to go."

Paul stood there, a stunned expression on his face as I turned and hurried through the bushes and into my own yard. I flew into the house and quickly shut the door behind me. I leaned against it then slowly slid to the floor.

_What was that?_ My sub-consciousness demanded.

_What was that? Why did I do that, what the hell possessed me to kiss him? I was supposed to be avoiding him like the plague, not having dinner with him and sure as hell not kissing him. Oh, this was bad. It was so bad._

I pushed myself off the floor and crept to the window, peering out of it. Paul was standing in his yard, hands in his pockets staring out at the ocean. His shoulders hunched forward.

_Oh god,_ I thought_. What have I done?_

**0000**

Chapter Tunes:

Lapse – Envy on the coast

Don't Turn Away - Ra

Just want to let you guys know that it might be a a little longer between updates. For a while the hours at the company I work for were severly cut (we were only working four hour days) so I had a boat load of time to write. We go back to regular season hours on sunday which means, 8 and 9 hour days. Hopefully I'll be able to update at least once a week, but it won't be as frequently as it has been. Anywhoo...hope you liked this chapter...as always, reviews are awesomesauce...much better than making out with hot Paul in the backyard...haha..just kidding :)


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry that I haven't updated lately. FF was being a huge butt head and would not let me update. So here are three coming at you. Enjoy!

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Six -Never Have I Ever

Leah

The morning was quiet, still for a moment. The wind ceased and all the sound was sucked out to sea. The moment was similar to the eye of a hurricane, the sunshine, and the warmth, the feeling of knowing that the worst was over, that you were safe.

I took in the morning, the calm, the quiet, over a cup of coffee. The beach was quiet this early in the morning, only the most avid of runners pounding their running shoes against the sands. A gentle breeze blew a few strands of hair free from my messy ponytail. Idly, I pushed them back off my forehead and picked up my coffee cup, my eyes trailing to the break in the bushes, ultimately up to his vacant house.

I forced my eyes away, forced myself to stare at the farthest point on the horizon, to _not_ think about Paul or his slobbery dog, or the kiss.

Instead, I forced myself to think about the note. Two days ago, the morning after the kiss, I'd gone out to check the mail and found it tucked under the windshield wiper. A thin sheet of notebook paper with two words scribbled hastily across the center of page.

I picked up the note now, stared at the impetuously scrawled words, and wondered what to make of it. He didn't sign it, didn't offer any further explanation; it just was. A sheet of notebook stained with some mysterious substance that looked like it could be either tea or blood that simply said, "I'm sorry."

It irked me. What was he sorry for? Was he sorry for kissing me back, or was he sorry for the mysterious absence? Speaking of which, where, exactly, was he?

Gone, my subconscious answered.

Yeah, but, gone, gone or just away? I wondered. There's no way he's gone – gone, not over something as simple as a kiss.

I turned and glanced at the dark house. Maybe old Mr. Roberson finally got sick of the incessant rock music that seemed to reverberate the windows all hours of the day and night and lured Paul and Dogzilla out, then clubbed them like seal pups and disposed of the bodies.

An image of Mr. Roberson, stooped and frail, half-blind and deaf with old age, raising his sturdy wooden can maliciously and striking both man and beast. It amused me to no end, but lacked credibility leaving me to ponder other options.

An emergency back home, maybe one of his parents took ill, or maybe an event – a wedding or something, that he had to attend. I imagined Paul in a tux waltzing gorgeous women around a dance floor to clichéd songs specifically geared toward those types of occasions. The image struck a fist of jealousy in the pit of my belly where it burned bright then simmered quietly. Why did I even care? He wasn't anything or anyone to me, no one but a neighbor with an annoying dog and a tendency to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

It was maddening, constantly thinking about him, wondering where he'd gone off to, when he'd be back. I spent two more days trying to, unsuccessfully, unravel the mystery. Then it was Friday. Claire and Quil arrived in a flurry of hugs and cooed, "I've missed you." It made me feel slightly better to see my best friend and her charming husband, but honestly, did little to distract me from the mystery that was Paul.

That night over dinner, Claire called me on it. "What's going on with you?" she asked, stabbing a long, thin spear of asparagus. She dipped the tip of the asparagus in the Hollandaise Sauce pooling on her plate before biting it delicately.

I shrugged and sipped my glass of wine. "It's nothing, I've just been distracted. I'm sorry; I've got a lot on my mind."

"I can tell. What's going on? Spill it, sister."

I set the cup down and stared at her pretty face, her mane of brown hair poofed around her head like a lion's mane. I sighed and said, "I think I have a thing for the guy who lives next door. We kissed a few nights ago, and then the next day he leaves a note on my car saying he's sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

I shrugged. "Beats me. But he's gone now-"

"Gone? Gone where?"

I shrugged again, my shoulders rising up, then down. "I have no idea. His evil dog is gone, his house is quiet, his truck hasn't been there in days. I have no idea what's going on." I twisted the edge of the napkin between my fingers and stared out the long glass picture window at the sun setting on Coral Bay. "I don't even know why it matters or why I care. I should be thankful for the peace and quiet, for the uninterrupted morning coffee I can now enjoy in peace again. But I'm not. I miss the interruption, if only a little bit."

Claire smiled widely. "I wish I had some kind of really great advice for you," she said. "But I don't. Well, aside from the fact that you should just let go and have fun, I don't have any other advice. Life is short; you should enjoy it while you have the chance. And when I say, enjoy it; I'm not talking about the little things, the peanut butter Girl Scout cookies, or the Carl Hiaasen books you seem to enjoy so much. Go crazy, have an affair with the intention of having sex to just have sex, and nothing more. No feelings, no empty promises, no, "I'll clear a drawer and a space in the bathroom for your toothbrush," kind of thing. Just simple, no strings attached sex."

"It's so easy for you to sit there and say that," I told her. "Your married, you're strings are already attached, spaces cleared, drawers empty. I can't have sex just to have sex."

"Yes you can. You're the one making it harder than it has to be. You're the one who can't let go. I didn't want to tell you this, but I think it's time you know."

I swallowed, trying to dislodge the hard lump that formed in my throat. Shaking my head, I resisted the urge to shove my fingers deep into my ear canals to block out what she was about to tell me. "I don't want to know. I don't care and I don't want to know."

"Too bad," Claire said. "You need to stop pining over him at some point. Sam and Emily are getting married. And she's pregnant."


	7. Chapter 7

Coffee and Cigarettes

Chapter Seven

Leah

Claire and I drove home from Coral Bay in deafening silence. The phrase 'pregnant and married' toppled around in my head like one of those annoying Windows screensavers, tumbling and bouncing across my mind in a seemingly random pattern. I exhaled loudly and forced myself to stop thinking about it. I couldn't decide if she was baiting me or really trying to help. Regardless, I refused to give in to the game. I wanted details, oh god how I longed for juicy tidbits of information, little nuggets I could squirrel away and dissect later in time. It was though, as Claire had pointed out, pointless. Wondering about it wasn't going to change a damn thing, so I forced myself to not think about it. To, instead, listen to the rush of the wind as it whipped stray hairs out of my chignon and into my face.

My conscious refusal to think about Sam and Emily's news did little to stem the flow of unconscious thought that trickled through the mental wall like a faucet left to drip. My mind still reeled from shock. Their perfect - my perfect - happily ever after radiated betrayal. How was it possible that they could still hurt me? How could the ripples of their actions reach that far? How could those ripples could travel over so much time and space to reach, and affect, me here in the seemingly safe little bubble I'd cocooned around myself.

From the darkness beside me, Claire finally spoke up. "Lee, honey, you alright?"

I took a deep breath of the moist night air and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "I'm fine," I replied tersely. "But boy, I'll tell you what. You sure know how to ruin a good time."

"I'm sorry," she said not sounding the least bit apologetic. "But it's like I keep telling you. He's not coming back. You're stuck in the past. You keep holding on to this romantic little notion that he's going to wake up one day and realize he made a huge mistake and well, he's not. Sam's moved on Leah. He's moved on and he's not coming back to you. Its time you move on too."

"You know what?" I said, anger winding its way around my words. "I'm so sick and tired of people telling me what I should do or how I should feel. I'm so over everyone telling me what to believe in and what to give up hope on. I swear, if I listened to any of you I'd be a shut in. I'd never leave my house!"

Claire sighed, shuffled through her bag, then retrieved a tube of lip-gloss. She smoothed it over her lips, deposited the strawberry scented gel back into her purse and stared straight out the windshield as the headlights swept over the dark pavement. "We're all just trying to help. Me, your mother-"

"My mother's full of it," I interrupted.

"Beside the point. We just want you to be happy," she said softly.

"Well stop," I snapped, "because I don't need it. This is my life. Mine and I choose how to live it. Or not live it. It would be really great if people could respect that."

When we finally got back to Capeside it was after nine. Cars were parked along the street in front of several houses were parties appeared to be in full swing. As I rounded the bend, my own house came in to view. The first thing I spotted was a muddy pickup truck parked in Paul's driveway. My heart - for all the hurt it beat through tonight - did a jubilant little dance in my chest, then picked up speed double time.

As I pulled into the drive, Zeus came charging across the lawn, his jowls flopping, flying away from his face before slapping back into it. The dog skidded to a stop at the car door and flopped his rump to the ground, waiting for me to get out of the car. The second I opened the door, he jumped on me, licking my face.

"Hi," I said laughing as his rough tongue grazed over my cheek. "How are you?" As I scratched behind his ears, I could feel eyes burning into the back of my skull. Claire made her way around the car and eyed Zeus warily.

"Who's your friend?" she asked, maintaining her distance from the now drooling canine.

I pushed Zeus off my chest and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. "This is Zeus. He's Paul's dog." I nodded in the direction of his house and saw him sitting on the porch. He raised his beer bottle and nodded a greeting.

"That's Paul?" Claire said breathily.

"Yup."

"He's...wow. If I wasn't married..." her voice trailed off.

I smiled and said, "come on, I'll introduce you."

"Oh no," Claire said. "He's looking at you like, well, you know."

"Shut up," I retorted. "I don't know what you're talking about." All of my previous irritation with and at her dissipated. All thoughts of Sam and Emily, their upcoming nuptials and bundle of joy, faded. It was stupid, of course it was, to go and get all giddy over a man, especially a man I've known for like what, a week?

I chalked the feeling up to physical attraction, plain and simple. He was a good-looking guy who had a lot going for him in the "check out my chiseled features" section. So naturally, my response was normal. See a nice looking guy, get a little worked up. It was as natural as two plus two equaling four.

"I'll be right back," I said to Claire and reached down, grabbing Zeus' collar. To the dog I said, "come on, it's time to go home."

"Are you staying over there?" Claire hissed.

I stopped mid-step, glanced over my shoulder and shot her a looked that screamed, 'shut up!'

"Are you?" she asked again, oblivious and unable to take a hint.

"I said I'll be right back." I tightened my grip on Zeus's collar and half walk, half drag him across the yard. At the porch, I release his collar and say, "go home." To my utter amazement, the dopey-eyed dog climbed the porch steps and settled at Paul's feet.

"Hey," he said finally acknowledging me over the brown rim of his sweaty beer bottle.

"Hi," I replied, unsure of what came next. All around me, the humid night air crackled with uncomfortable tension. "Well," I said after a few seconds of buzzing silence. "I was just bringing your dog back. See ya around." I turned, about to walk away when Paul called my name.

"Did you get my note?"

I nodded, turning to face him. "I did."

"Good," he replied raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long swallow.

"But I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. That was-" I took a deep breath hoping to counteract the erratic beating of my heart. "That was all me. I'm sorry I put you into that situation."

Anger flashed in his eyes, his face twisting into a mask of sarcasm. "That "situation"?" he sneered, "Jesus Christ what am I, some sort of delicate garden flower? It wasn't a "situation," it was a kiss - and a damn good one at that."

Flabbergasted, I stood on the soft grass staring up at him. From my position in the yard, Paul towered over me, striding back and forth across the porch waving his arms almost comically, his mouth still moving, words drifting down to my level yet failing to register. What the hell is going on? Was he seriously standing up there yelling at me?

Yes, I noted, he was in fact yelling. "Shut up!" I yelled over his tirade. "I kissed you because for some reason I wanted to. You let me because you wanted to. Now apparently you're sorry, for what though God only knows, and you're standing there yelling at me after I've had one of the worst nights of my life..." My voice trailed off as inexplicable tears filled my eyes.

At the sight of my tears, Paul's features softened. Setting the bottle down, he carefully navigated the steps and stopped in front of me. "I had a bad day too." He took a step forward, almost imperceptively closer toward me. Our chests were barely touching. I could feel the soft heat radiating from his body soaking through the top of my dress. Closing his fingers around my hand, he looked down at me. "Want to tell me about yours?"

I glanced up. His breath reeked of alcohol, his eyes, two unfocusing glassy orbs in his head still held the power to undo me. A tremor wiggled up my spine. "Maybe," I began, inhaled and exhaled, continued, "maybe later. But not tonight. I don't want to talk about it tonight.

With the fingers of his left hand still wound around mine, he reached up with his right and laid his palm against my cheek. "Okay," he said quietly. Unwillingly, I leaned into his caress. "I think I missed you." His boozy breath invaded my nostrils, made my stomach clench.

"You're drunk," I told him, casting his statement off as nothing more than a drunk's loose and loving tongue.. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, I am drunk, but I know what I'm saying. Really. I missed you. I missed the smell of your coffee and cigarettes on the early morning breeze and the way you yell at me when my dog does something asinine, and I missed your eyes, those sad and pretty eyes."

"Alright Romeo," I said, removing his hand from my face and gently freeing my fingers from his. "Go home and sleep it off."

Giving him a gently shove in the direction of his house, I step back and wait for him to leave. "But you didn't tell me you missed me," he practically wined.

"Because I didn't," I lied.

Paul pouted, his lower lip sticking out, his eyes downcast and very puppy doggish. "You wound me with your words."

"Oh knock it off. I didn't miss you, but I didn't particularly like not knowing where you were or when and if you were coming back."

"I'll take it," he said with a victorious smile. Something behind me caught his attention and he gazed up at my house. "Your friends are watching."

"Of course they are," I muttered. "Now go home and sleep it off. I'll see you later."

Claire and Quil had the good sense to clear out before I walked back across the yard. After shutting and locking the front door behind me, I kicked off my shoes and padded down the hall to the kitchen. A bottle of juice sat on the counter between Quil and Claire.

"Is there any left?" I asked pointing at the container.

"Huh? Oh yeah, here." Quil picked up the bottle and handed it to me. "I'll, uh, leave you to alone. If I have any luck at all I can catch the last half of the game, maybe see Bickerman get a chance to bat."

As soon as Quil disappeared into the living room, Claire turned to me. "So," she said with a sly smile.

"So?"

"Did you talk to him?" I picked up my juice, took a sip. Claire stared at me expectantly, her eyes wide and pleading. "Did you?" I set the cup down and nodded. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," I said casually.

"Oh my God, come on, tell me something," she pleaded.

"There's nothing to tell. He's been drinking so it's not like what he did say was trustworthy."

Claire's eyes were beginning to pop out of her head. "Oh my God Leah cut the crap. Tell me what he said."

"He said he "thinks" he missed me. Me and my, and I quote, 'sad pretty eyes.' End quote."

"Aw," Claire gushed. "He missed you, how sweet."

"Thinks," I corrected. "Thinks he missed me, which is just stupid. You can't miss someone who's unsure if she likes or loathes you."

"It's a fine line between like and loathe," she said with a shrug.

"A fine line indeed. Anyway, it's been a long day and I'm exhausted. Would you hate me if I went to bed?"

"Of course not," she replied, laying her hand on my arm. "Listen, I want to tell you I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a bitch about how you live your life; I just worry about you. And don't tell me not to. I'll worry either way. I don't want you waking up one morning ten or fifteen years from now and regret the decisions you've made, I just want you to be happy, you know."

"I am happy, you know. I like my life here, even if it doesn't always seem like it."


	8. Chapter 8

Coffee and Cigarettes

Chapter 8

Leah

A throng of teenagers pushed past us, bumping into me, jostling Claire and I along as they moved, heads down lost in their iPods and text messages. I glared as one blatantly walked right into me. "Excuse me," I muttered, sidestepping the now grumbling kid.

"Stupid teenagers," Claire said with a grimace.

"Tell me about it," I replied falling into step beside her. We walked, uninterrupted, through the mall, passing a glass fronted portrait studio where a pug in a tutu perched on what looked like a wooden log in front of a fairytale background. A photographer dressed in all black was happily snapping pictures of the pup as the dog's proud owner stood behind her waving treats in the air.

I snorted and elbowed Claire, pointing at the scene. "Some people are just too weird."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "That poor dog. Someone needs to tell that woman to get a hobby."

We passed the portrait studio and continued in silence, passing stores and eying the expertly dressed mannequins sporting this season's trends. Soon enough clothing stores gave way to the more artsy stores; an Italian tablecloth boutique, a store featuring local art, and finally a small shop nestled into the back corner of the mall. "This is new," I said peeking into the windows of a shop called Lemon Drop, where intricately knitted blankets hung over thick mahogany colored racks.

"Wanna go in?" Claire asked.

"Sure," I shrugged. "You can never have too much stuff you don't need."

A tall woman with a thick brown braid greeted us from behind the register as we entered. I waved and headed toward a rack of throws that would match my living room perfectly - if I could swallow the eighty-dollar price tag attached. "Feel how soft these are," I said running my hand along a pale pink throw.

"That is soft," Claire said. "So we never really got a chance to talk about you last night. How are you really?"

I shrugged and wandered further into the store. "Most days I'm fine, you know. I quietly trip along through life, taking each day as it comes. I miss Seattle, I kind of miss my parents and my brother but I was never really close to any of them so it's not enough to make me long to see them. I miss my job and the never ending supply of coffee shops but like I told you last night, I'm happy here."

"Really?"

"Yes," I said with a nod. "I might not have chosen Capeside, but it chose me. Each morning I wake up and tell myself that there was a reason fate chose this place, a reason why I ran out of gas and chose to settle here instead of refueling and continuing south towards California. Maybe I'm here because I had to slow down. You know switch to a lower gear and give myself time to heal."

"Do you really believe that?"

Did I? I wondered. Sometimes it seemed like landing here was just one huge coincidence, like if id stopped for gas five miles sooner I might have made it to Crescent City or some other city along the pacific coast highway. But I didn't. I made it here and I had to believe there was a reason for it.

"Yes," I finally said. "I mean, yeah, it's a game of odds, but sooner or later I would have stopped somewhere for some reason. Regardless, here is good. It's quaint and quiet. The people are perfectly lovely, what's not to love?"

"How are you coping with the Sam thing?"

"I beat up dummies or listen to sad songs while eating myself into an ice cream coma. Or I don't eat at all and listen to depressing songs while contemplating ways to kill myself. I honestly don't know what to do to make it all right again. I don't know how to make it stop hurting."

"You don't," Claire said. "Or better, you can't. It'll hurt until it doesn't. You just can't wallow in it. Go out dancing; let some random guy buy you a drink at a bar. Allow yourself to feel sexy and desirable again. And for god's sake, please have a steamy affair with Paul."

I snorted. "Listen to you trying to live vicariously through me."

"I gotta get my kicks somehow," she said simply.

That night after our shopping trip, the three of us decided to go out for dinner, drinks, and dancing at a local place in Capeside. Claire gasped as I pulled into the parking lot. "Oh my god," she breathed, "this looks just like the place from True Blood."

Keys was a low-slung rectangular shaped building that sat on a bluff overlooking the bay, it's once white paint was peeling away to reveal the weathered wood beneath. Directly behind the property was a skinny black and white swirled lighthouse. It's beam cutting through the descending twilight. Beside me in the front seat, Claire rambled on and on about the hit vampire show. I glanced in the review mirror at Quil, who shrugged and let his ramble on.

Inside the bar, the jukebox was blaring Tim McGraw. A few people were spinning around the dance floor at breakneck speeds. Sawdust sat in tiny piles at each of the floors four corners. The paneled walls featured autographed posters from different musical events - Woodstock, The Grand Ole Opry, even SXSW. Tables were haphazardly scattered around the room, some here, some there. Booths lined the east and west walls. At the north end of the building was a stage, at the south, the entrance and a couple of pool tables. A bar was tucked into the northeast corner next to a glowing jukebox.

I lead the way to a vacant table near the dance floor and sat down, looking around for a familiar face. When I turned back around, a petite waitress with a black apron tied around her waist appeared with a pad of paper in one hand and a pen poised in the other.

"What can I get you guys? We've got draft specials, or will it be just a soda?"

"I'll take a bottle of Corona," Claire said.

"Same for me," Quil echoed.

"I'll have a Jack and Coke," I said.

"Now remember," Claire said after the waitress waltzed off toward another table. "We're not in college anymore. You can't go partying like a rock star."

"No," I replied. "We definitely won't be going down that road. Just one stiff drink then I'm switching to soda. I definitely don't want to wake up tomorrow morning feeling like I drank everything but the toilet water."

As the night grew later, the dinner crowd turned into the party crowd. On the stage at the front of the dance floor, a band began setting up. The jukebox was still pumping out tunes chosen by quarter wielding patrons. On the dance floor, Claire and Quil swayed to a Poison song.

As the final guitar chords hung in the air, the lights dimmed and the jukebox, once flashing neon blues and greens, sat quietly in the corner. The lights on the stage came up, and a man in form fitting blue jeans stepped up to the microphone.

"How's everybody doing tonight?" he asked.

A few bar patron's hollered responses as the man fidgeted with his guitar strings. He laughed and said, "Well alright. We're Painted Rose and obviously, we'll be performing for you tonight. Now how's about we get this party started!"

Painted Rose started with a few upbeat covers of popular country songs, ending their first set with an upbeat cover of a Kenny Chesney song. The jukebox roared back to life as the band exited the stage and the dance floor emptied. I was sitting at the table sipping my drink when I looked up to see Kim and Jared crossing the floor. Kim saw me and smiled. She leaned into Jared's ear and said something then headed in my direction.

"Hey you!" she said when she approached the table.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, great! How are you?"

"The same. Enjoying a night out with some friends visiting from Seattle."

"That's nice. I hope you guys are having a good time."

"We are. I'm not really a fan of country music, but the singers not half bad."

Kim laughed. "Watch out, it grows on you. So listen, I've wanted to talk you but I thought it might be weird if I just dropped by, but I don't want to bug you about it now. Are you free for lunch sometime this week?"

"Sure. How's Wednesday?"

"Sounds great. Let's say one at that café on Carter and 8th?"

"Sure, I'll see you then."

Kim waved and headed back toward her own table. I scanned the room for Claire and Quil and finished my drink, the cheap whiskey burning the back of my throat. I was getting tired and a headache was starting to form in the back of my skull and I had to pee like nobody's business. As I stood, the jukebox cut off again and the band took the stage.

"Okay, we're gonna slow things down a little bit. Some of you might recognize this next song and if you don't it's okay, our version is way better."

Piano music filled the bar followed by the singer's raspy voice crooning the words to a Britney Spears song. As I made my way to the bathroom,, a pair of strong hands grabbed me from behind and wheeled me toward the dance floor.

"Hey! What the-"

"Oh shut up and just go with it, Loca," a voice said and the grip on my arms loosened.

I spun around; a violent string of curses dying on my lips as my eyes landed on Paul's good naturedly smiling face.

"What are you doing?" I snapped as he practically dragged me toward the dance floor.

"Dancing with you."

"Oh no you're not, I have to pee," I protested.

"After we dance."

He slipped onto the floor with me trailing behind him. In one fell swoop, I was in his arms, pressed close to his chest stumbling clumsily around the dance floor, my feet and slightly inebriated brain trying unsuccessfully to follow his lead.

All around me, couples were dancing expertly. I moved closer to Paul to avoid being trampled. My heart beat slowly in my chest, the air between us warm and comfortable. I was hyper-aware of his hand on the small of my back, the feel of his arm holding me close to him. I closed my eyes and sighed, breathing in the ocean, sawdust, and unrecognizable cologne he always smelled like. Around us, the piano and electric guitar echoed and hung in the air, making the moment far more intimate that it should have been. Add to that the soft whispering of Paul, who was singing along softly. I felt warm, safe, and content.

Please god, I thought. Don't let this moment end. Just let me stay here like this forever.

The song ended, a new one began, and still we swayed, locked in place in the middle of the dance floor as song seduced mind. It wasn't hard to get swept up in the moment. I was slightly intoxicated, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but given the circumstances and current situation, it could definitely equal trouble.

Oh just shut up and go with it, my subconscious answered. You're having fun. Stop being so over analytical. You act as if doing something strictly for yourself would kill you.

I looked up at Paul, our eyes meeting in the filtered light. "What do you want from me?" I asked echoing the song's chorus.

"Nothing," he said softly. His thumb made small circles on the small of my back. "Let's get out of here and go for a drive."

I opened my mouth, completely prepared to dismiss the idea, but instead said, "That sounds good. Let me find my friends and give them the keys to my car so they can get home. I'll meet you at the door."

"Okay," he said and slowly let go of me. I stepped back and headed off the dance floor toward my table. Quil was sitting at it talking to a guy at the table behind him.

"Where's Claire?" I asked breathlessly.

"Bathroom. Why what's up? You alright?" he eyed me much like an older brother would eye his younger sister when he suspected she was up to no good.

"I'm fine, everything is fine."

"Okay, if you say so."

I grabbed my purse, rummaged through it for the keys then handed them to Quil. "Here, can you hang on to these. I've had too much to drink. It's not safe for me to drive."

He took the keys, still eyeing me critically. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Everything," I said with a nervous smile, "Is perfect."

He narrowed his eyes and sipped his soda. "If you say so."

I nodded and turned to go find Claire. She was coming out of the bathroom as I approached. "How mad would you be if I told you I was leaving?"

"Um, okay. How are Quil and I supposed to get back to your place?"

"Let me rephrase, how mad would you be if I told you I was leaving with Paul?"

Her eyes widened. "Are you really?"

"Yeah, we were dancing and he asked me if I wanted to get out of here and go for a drive. I said yes. I gave the car keys to Quil. Are you okay with that? I totally feel like I'm eighteen and ditching you to go have a sleazy one night stand with some creepy club guy-"

"No," she said adamantly cutting me off. "Go, get the hell out of here, and have fun. We're not eighteen and he's not a creepy club guy. Quil and I will be fine."

I gave her a quick hug. "Thank you," I said. "I'll see you at home."

"Have fun!" she called as I headed toward the front of the bar. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

(In case you were wondering, the two songs referenced were: What Do You Want by Jerrod Niemann and Hold It Against Me covered by Chester See, orginially by Britney Spears.)


	9. Chapter 9

Coffee and Cigarettes

Chapter 9

Leah

Paul traded his usual background noise for something a little lighter, more mood appropriate. The smooth stylings of B.B. King pumped out of the truck's speakers, crackling with static on the AM station. The bluesy guitar wailed mournfully, mixing with the warm summer air creating an atmosphere straight out of the movies.

I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed, lost in the moment and the music. The jittery nervousness I felt as we pulled out of the parking lot at Keys flew right out the window when Paul pulled onto the highway. For a while, we rode in silence, nothing but the three-quarter moon, the music and us. Paul followed the road as he drove without a direction, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the doorframe. A smile curled at the edges of his lips. I glanced at him, peering out of the corner of my eye. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze, shooting up in tufts and waving before catching the wind again and lying back down. The curve of his jaw was shadowed; his eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight; two hazel orbs peering straight at the road, crinkled slightly in amusement. In my chest, my heart sighed, leaving me to wonder how I got so tangled up in him so quickly. Could it have really been just a week ago that I was scoffing at him and his every action, promising myself that I would ignore him at all costs until he wizened up, and left town? How had he managed to find a way under my skin?

It was, I decided, the easygoing smile and take no bullshit attitude_. _The fact that he also worked out shirtless on the beach every morning did little to deter my growing infatuation. He was easy to dislike and even more easy to love. Not that I loved him, hell not that I even felt anything remotely close to love for him. But infatuation? Oh buddy; I was knee deep in it.

The wind, which was pounding my face a few moments ago, was suddenly whisper soft. I opened my eyes and looked around. The orange blinker flashed in the dark as the truck bounced off the highway and onto the dirt shoulder. Tall shrubs and bushes crunched drily under the ties as the large truck bound toward unfamiliarity cloaked in darkness. Terror clawed at my throat, suffocating me. "Where are we going?" I asked, fighting to keep the panic out of my voice. How could I have been so stupid? I watched _48 Hours_, I knew what kinds of things went on down dirt roads, and they weren't good.

"I want to show you something," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

"Show me what?"

"This place I used to go when I was a kid. My family owns, well used to own, this land. It was my aunt's before she passed. It went to my uncle afterward, but he had no use for it so he sold it. Well, most of it. He kept the house and about three acres. My parents used to ship me down here for the summer when I was a kid. I loved it. The summers were always full of adventures. My aunt had horses and chickens. There were a couple of cows too. The summer I was nine, my uncle built me a pretty amazing tree house in that tree."

I followed his finger and saw the massive tree standing solitarily in the middle of the field. Further up was a dilapidated house; its windows - what few were still intact - reflected the moonlight light. A sagging porch wrapped around the first floor and the remains of a few broken rocking chairs stood there, a ghostly testament to a lifetime forgot. In the space between the tree and the old house, a sea of tall grass swayed gently in the breeze, making a light rustle of noise that added value to the nights burgeoning symphony.

Paul rolled to a stop near the tree and shut off the truck. The loud rumble silenced, the crickets added their slow and steady _creeeek-it_ to the soundtrack of the evening. Paul reached into the space behind the front seat and pulled out a scratchy looking Mexicana blanket. "This is all I've got, but it should work. Sure beats sitting in here all cooped up when we could be out there enjoying the evening."

I followed him out of the truck and waited until he spread the blanket out under the tree, all the while contemplating running like hell back toward the road, but ultimately deciding against it. While technically no one knew where I was exactly, Claire knew whom I was with. If he were going to murder me, he'd be the first one she'd point the finger at. I waited until he had the blanket fully arranged on the ground then decided, what the hell, and sat down. We sat side-by-side leaning against the tree trunk, not touching but close enough so that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"So what's your story?" he asked, tugging a long strand of grass from the ground and rolling it between his fingers.

"I don't have a story," I replied looking down at my hands.

"Sure you do. What brought you to Capeside?" He idly rolled the length of grass, rolling it and unrolling it.

"A pretty bad breakup. I had to get away. I couldn't stand the city anymore. I felt like I was being suffocated by the memories."

"Portland?"

"No, Seattle. Some stuff happened and one day I just decided I'd had enough. I packed up my car and drove until I ran out of gas."

"And the farthest you got was Capeside? You must get some pretty crappy gas mileage."

"I didn't have a full tank," I laughed. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly when I decided to go. I just did it. As I was leaving, all these thoughts came crashing down on me. Where was I going, what was I going to do when I got there, did I really even care about the future?" I shrugged. "It was a rash decision to leave, but the moment I made it, it felt as right as rain. I ran out of gas on the highway and spent the better part of the night in my car sobbing like a newborn baby. A tow truck showed up and brought me in to town. I thought about filling up and continuing south towards something a little more, I don't seasonable, perhaps the tropical shores of a beautiful Mexican city, like Cabo."

"What stopped you?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I spent a few nights in the B&B in town while I figured out what my next move was, which was terrifying because I had no idea what came next and it scared me. Here I was, alone in a strange town, on my own for the first time in almost ten years and I was scared and confused." I paused to breathe and gather my thoughts as the emotion of those first few days in Capeside came rushing back to me with stunning clarity. "Those first few days here were the worst days of my life. I felt like I was being suffocated by my own damn panic and I felt stupid for essentially running away from my life in Seattle."

"But you stayed," Paul said softly. "Why?"

"I think I stayed because...for some reason, here felt right. And when all the other pieces started to fall into place: the job, the house, and well it was like the clouds parted and fate said, "This is where you belong, where you need to be." So I stayed and as it turns out, here is probably exactly where I was meant to be all along." After the words left my mouth, I realized he could take that one of two ways. He could think I meant here with him in the right here and now, or here as in Capeside, here.

Paul didn't acknowledge the comment. He forged on with his dissect Leah's life quest. "You ever think about leaving, going back to the city, and picking up the pieces of your life?"

I shook my head no. "There's nothing left there for me to go back to. As for the pieces of my life, well they're still pretty much just pieces. I can put them back together any time I choose."

"So why haven't you?"

"I haven't seen the point. After I got over the initial shock, I was sad, depressed - whatever you want to call it - and never really saw the point. I mean, who was I if I wasn't with Sam? I didn't, hell still don't, know who to be without him." I sighed and plucked my own blade of grass. "He slept with my cousin. How screwed up is that? I mean, that's my family. I could understand if she was some random chick that worked in his office or he met in a bar, but how sleazy do you have to be to sleep with your girlfriend's cousin? I will never get that."

"Do you think it would have made it easier had he slept with some random woman?"

"Of course not. I think that it might have stung a little less. I would be able to face my family. They've made it so that now anytime there's a family function, I have to see both of them. I have to stand there and pretend that I'm fine while they flaunt their relationship in my face. If he'd had an affair with anyone else, it wouldn't be the same. I could go home, or go to a family reunion and be fine. They wouldn't be there."

"What's your family think of all this?"

I laughed humorlessly. "They apparently see nothing wrong it. " It happens," my aunt said. "You'll get past it," another cousin said. And my personal favorite, "Sometimes the mind wants one thing, but the heart wants another. Sam might have thought he wanted you, but there was something missing from your relationship and he found it with Emily. You should be happy for them."

"No offense, but your mom sounds like a bitch."

"None taken because she is. That's another reason why I stayed here. Because I really mean it when I say that there is nothing for me to go back to in Seattle. Unless you count my job."

"What did you do?"

"I taught preschool."

"I never would have guessed that. I guess you don't seem the type. Do you miss it?"

I nodded. "Like the air I breathe. I loved those kids. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss them. They were dolls, each and every one of them. Each day with those kids was like discovering buried treasure. You never knew what you were going to find. They were always happy and they made me happy. Their carefree attitude was infectious, I never went home angry. I can't say the same thing now. I miss them, but all the kids I had are all in kindergarten by now. It would be a completely new set of kids. I can't miss kids I never knew." I sighed and stared off into the distance. "It is what it is, I guess."

"But that doesn't mean you have to like it."

"No, but it sure does mean I have to live with it," I replied.

"Why do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" I replied, dumbfounded.

"Act like your Wonder Woman. You act as if nothing fazes you; like you're somehow above it all. When you talk about your life, you distance yourself from it all. You're kind of all like, "oh well it happened, nothing I can do about it."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, feel something. Have some emotion other than anger when you talk about your life."

"Would you prefer a blubbering mess of a woman crying over a man who did her so wrong? That's the way it is with me. I have to be angry because if I stop being angry I'm going to fall apart."

"If you don't stop being so angry you're going to fall apart. It's going to consume you, like a fire, and swallow you whole."

I didn't want him to be right, but he was. And it annoyed me. "I can't stand that about you," I said crossly. "You think you know everything. You think you know how I should feel. Who died and made you the expert on handling breakups?"

"No one, but you're not the only one going through it right now. You're not the only one who's hurting. You heard my story, you had to, so you know what I'm going through, and I'm not stalking around sulking, snapping at everyone."

"I do not "stalk" around snapping at people," I snapped angrily.

He reached down and took my hand, intertwining our fingers together. The warmth of his hand spread up my arm. "Look at us, why are we always fighting. It's like this never-ending pissing contest between us, a debt that has to be re-paid in snarky comments and below the belt insults. I don't want to fight with you, not tonight. I get it, all right, you're hurting, and I'm always telling you what to do and how to feel. I'm sorry. I'll stop; I'll shut my mouth and keep my opinions to myself."

I sighed and leaned my head against the rough tree trunk. "Life is crazy isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"It's just this, us." I shrugged. "I mean did you ever expect to end up here, now, with me?"

"Not in a million years," Paul laughed. "There's nothing wrong with this moment, but the path that lead me here, eh, I never saw _that_ coming."

"How are _you_ coping?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," he said, a sharp edge creeping into his voice.

"Now that's not really fair. We dragged my dirty laundry out, discussed, and analyzed it," I pointed out. "Turn a bout's fair play."

Paul sighed and stared down at our intertwined fingers. His calloused thumb began making a circuitous path in the space between my thumb and pointer finger. "I suppose that's true," he agreed. "I cope, I guess. Like you I haven't really found a reason to move on, but it was time, so I did."

"How?"

"I got rid of everything that reminded me of her, of Angela. Except Zeus. But he's my pal, I couldn't just get rid of him. That's part of the reason why he likes to mow you down; I think he thinks you're her." He paused, still staring at our hands. "There are days, times that I just want to call her just so I can hear her voice. That's it; I don't even want to talk to her. I just want to hear her say hello. I tell myself that would be enough, that I could take that tiny scrap and make it last long enough to get me through."

"Through what?" I asked.

"I don't really know," he replied with a shrug. "The day or maybe the month. It doesn't matter, it would be just enough to soothe the ache. Then I remember it won't hurt forever, that eventually it'll be okay and I tell myself that calling her would be bad. It'd be like pulling the stitches out of the wound. I'd be all spread open and screwed up again. I don't want to be that way again so I refrain. I don't call her, I don't think about her and when I find myself going down that road I find something else to do."

"Like what? What distracts you?"

"Well right now, my distraction is the darkroom that I'm building in the spare room."

"You're building a what?"

"A darkroom, a place to develop pictures."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I don't plan on working on my uncles boat forever, because I had a job that I loved and ultimately want to go back to."

"You were a photographer?"

He nodded. "Yeah, back in Seattle. How ironic is that? We're both from Seattle, we both get screwed over by our significant others and we both end up here, living next door to one another. Man, if that ain't fate I don't know what is."

"Maybe it was fate," I agreed. "But I don't know if I believe that. Maybe it's just a really odd coincidence. Maybe it's nothing."

"And maybe your wrong," he replied.

I scowled at him. "Maybe you're wrong. You know, it's starting to get kind of late."

Paul glanced up at the sky. "Yeah," he said. "We should probably head back." He stood up and offered me his hand. "In case I forget to tell you later, I had a good time tonight."

"Me too," I said softly. "I did too."


	10. Chapter 10

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Ten

Leah

The spell of the night was beginning to lift as we headed back home. I could feel the warmth and happiness that spread over me earlier beginning to recede as the awkward silence filled the truck cab. A faint breeze blew through the cracked windows and I shivered as its chill wrapped around me.

"Want me to turn on the heat?" Paul asked, taking notice of the goose bumps running up and down my arms.

"I'm fine," I replied, rubbing my hands up my arms, trying to warm my skin.

The open space of the country fell away as buildings began dotting the once wide-open land, ultimately leading to the small shop lined streets of Capeside. We passed through the now hibernating town, heading toward home.

When he pulled into his driveway, I slowly opened the door and climbed out of the truck. Paul shut the door and took my arm. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

Together we walked across the moonlight-bathed lawn and up the front steps. I dug around inside my bag for my house keys, forgetting that I gave them to Quil before I left the bar. I reached for the doorknob, hoping that at least one of them had good sense enough to leave it unlocked. The knob turned slightly under my grasped and creaked open. I sighed in relief and glanced up at Paul .

"It was nice talking to you tonight," he said before I had the chance.

"It was," I agreed.

"Do you want to do it again sometime? Maybe just the two of us, we can go out to dinner or something?"

The natural thing to say would have been yes but I found myself conflicted. I bit my lip, stalling.

"Leah?"

"I can't," I said. "I, um-"

"Okay," he said, disgust lacing his voice. "Never mind."

Damn it, I screamed in my head. Open your mouth, say something, anything.

It was too late. Paul turned and started walking away. I felt rooted to the porch, wanting nothing more than to run after him but too damned afraid to move. He disappeared around the truck and I saw him climb his own porch steps and disappear into his own house.

I opened the door to my own house and went inside, slowly climbed the stairs and entered my bedroom. I dropped my purse and keys on top of the dresser and went to the window, pulling the curtain back. There was a light on in the kitchen downstairs. The outline of Paul leaned against the counter by the window.

What was my problem? Why couldn't I just live my life like a normal person, do normal people things? Why couldn't I go over there now and tell him I was sorry, that it wasn't him, it was me.

Screw this, I thought. I dropped the curtain and crossed the room, wrenching the door open. I hurried down the stairs and out the front door, across the yard and up to Paul 's front door knocking rapidly.

Seconds passed with no response. I began to wonder if I was just seeing things in the kitchen window when the door opened and Paul , eyes stormy, brow knitted in concern as he stood there gripping the door. "What's wrong? Are you-"

I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and pulled him toward me. Off guard, he stumbled, released his grip on the door, reached his hands around the back of my neck pulling me toward him. Good sense went out the window as his fingers wound their way into my hair, tilting my head up, angling it toward his lips.

When they met, fireworks shot across my nerve endings. Tiny flashes of brilliant energy popping across my field of vision. His tongue tasted of apple juice, sweet and tart, as it ran over mine. His hands tightened their grip on my hair, pulling me against him, our chests pressed so closely I could feel his heart beating through the thin material of his tee shirt. I sighed as he gently bit my lower lip and pulled away.

"We have to stop," he said, voice thick with longing.

I nodded weakly, my head fuzzy as to why. "Yeah," I agreed breathlessly. "Why?"

Paul smiled, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. "Because we're getting dangerously close to something I'm not sure you're ready for."

"Oh."

"And for some reason I care enough about you to not do that to you. It would be wrong, though waiting for you to realize you like me – even just a little bit – might kill me. Especially if you keep doing stuff like that." He untangled my fists from his shirt and set them down by my side.

"I didn't mean for that to happen again." I paused. "I'm lying. I did. I came over specifically to do that. And to tell you that it's not you. It's me."

He stared down at me, his eyes conflicted. "You say stuff like that, that you came over here to do kiss me, it's confusing. What do you mean it's you, not me?"

"I don't know what I want. I want you, but I don't want you to hurt me."

"I won't hurt you Leah."

"Not intentionally," I replied.

"So you'd rather not even give me a chance?"

I took a deep breath. Here it was, fight or flight, sink or swim, jump or stay, to be or not to be. Could I do it, could I take the plunge and give him his chance or would I run away screaming again.

"Leah?"

"You said you wanted to go out to dinner or something. Do you still want to?"

Paul nodded. "Of course I do."

"Okay," I said releasing a shaky breath. "I'll go out to dinner with you."

"Tomorrow night, then." He leaned down, softly pressing his lips to mine, the flavor of apple juice laced kisses lingering on my lips.

"Tomorrow. Good night."

When I opened my eyes at precisely eleven-oh-seven that morning, I wanted nothing more than to roll over and block the invading sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows; pull the blankets over my head and drift back into slumber land, back into dreams laced with apple juice flavored kisses and the scent of cologne and night fragrant tee shirt.

"Nice to see you made it back to your bed last night," a knowing voice said from the edge of my bed.

I jumped, pressing my hands to my mouth to suppress the startled shriek threatening to escape. "You scared me," I said sitting up.

Claire smirked and shoved a spoonful of rainbow colored cereal into her mouth. "Sorry," she replied not sounding the least bit apologetic. "Did you and Mr. hot body have fun last night after you two left the bar together?"

"Nothing happened," I said defensively.

"Sure," she said smugly. Eyeing me dubiously from the end of the bed where she sat cross-legged, Claire shoved another heaping spoon of cereal into her mouth and chewed loudly.

"Seriously," I yawned. "We drove around and just talked."

"Really?"

I nodded. "Really. It's not like that with us."

"Not yet," she said. "I'll tell you one thing, though. You had better watch yourself. He's got it bad for you. I was watching you two on the dance floor. The way he looks at you, even when he's not looking at you…it's intense."

I laughed softly. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know how to explain it. There's something natural about the way you two are together. I was watching you while you were dancing with him last night. At one point, you sort of sighed and melted into him. It was almost like watching two people become and move as one."

"That's absurd," I told her. A cluster of butter yellow fuzzies clinging to the blanket caught my attention and I absentmindedly picked at them.

Claire shrugged. "Maybe it is. Whatever. Did you have a good time after you left the bar?"

"Yeah, actually, I think I did."

"Good. What time did you get in last night? I got up at like two to get a drink and you still weren't back."

"It was late, after three I think, when we got back. He walked me up to the front door, asked me out. Naturally, I freaked and said no. He got mad, went home, and I stood on the stoop like an idiot, then ran across the yard and beat down his door like a freak until he opened it and kissed me stupid."

"Oh my god! Then what happened?"

"Nothing. I said I'd go out with him and came home."

"Ugh," she sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"What do you mean? I'm taking chances, I agreed to go out with him, what more should I be doing? And don't you dare say have sex with him."

Claire grinned wickedly, but remained silent.

"Oh god! Is that all you think about?"

Claire smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling as the lopsided smile stretched across her face. "What do you want from me? I should have been a guy."

I rolled my eyes and abandoned my assault on the blanket. "What time are you and Quil leaving?" I asked, changing the subject.

Claire set the spoon down, clinking it against the bowl as she set it down on the bed beside her. "Noon. Quil wants to get there before tonight. Apparently, there's some band he likes playing in some bar by the hotel. Suddenly his acquiescence makes sense. I should have known there was no way he'd agree to a trip to Disney without some kind of strings being attached. Oh well." She shrugged. "Small price to pay for getting what I want."

"You're so spoiled," I told her. "But I've loved having you guys here. I wish we could visit more often. And don't even think about telling me to move back to Seattle."

"I wasn't," she said defensively. "All I was going to say was that I agree. It was so good to see you. I didn't realize how much I've missed you."

Forty-five minutes later, Quil wrestled the last of their luggage into the trunk of the car. Claire stood by the passenger door wiping tears from her eyes.

"I'm going to miss you," she sobbed throwing her arms around my neck.

"I'll miss you too. I'm going to try to be better about visiting. Maybe at the end of the summer I'll come up for a few days."

"I hope so; I really meant it when I said I miss having you around. Now, in all seriousness. Go out, get a new dress, wax your legs, and have a good time on your date. He could be good for you, Lee; you just gotta give him a chance."

"I know, I know," I said.

"We've got to get a movie on, sweetheart," Quil said from the other side of the car.

Claire released me from her grasp and gave me a soft peck on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

I nodded. "I will, I promise."

I watched as she got into the car and buckled her seatbelt then headed toward the front door. Quil waved and slid behind the wheel and started the car.

I waved goodbye and watched as they disappeared around the bend in the road, disappearing from my sight, then headed inside.

I took Claire 's advice and went shopping for a new dress in Portland. It was probably stupid, to drive all the way out there, but I needed time to clear my head and prepare myself for what came next. Panic and fear had my stomach rolling in circles.

The anxiety heightened as I walked through the mall, searching for a store that would carry clothing appropriate for a woman my age. I wandered through stores like Charlotte Russe, Aeropostale, and Forever 21, coming out of each empty handed and more irritated. I gave up after walking around some store called Papaya and finding nothing appropriate for a date.

Depressed and slightly disappointed that my trip all the way out here was a bust, I got into the car and plugged my address into the GPS. The screen shifted, a map appearing and the voice of a hoity-toity sounding British woman pumped through the system.

"Turn right in approximately one mile," she directed.

"Yeah, yeah, turning right," I muttered, flicking on the blinker.

An hour and a half later, I pulled into the driveway. Sitting on the porch was a flat white box with a pale blue ribbon wrapped around it. "What the hell?" I muttered, putting the car in park and shutting off the engine.

I grabbed my purse and hurried toward the porch. I reached the box and picked it up. A small white envelope with my name scrawled across the front was tucked under the ribbon. I slid it out and opened it.

_We stopped a few towns over to fill up and there was this awesome little boutique. I saw this in the window and thought of you. I hope you enjoy exploring uncharted territories. Remember: just breathe, have fun, and most importantly, always check to make sure no food is stuck in your teeth. No one likes kissing a girl who looks like she has a rotten tooth. _

_Love you,_

_Claire ._

I smiled, carrying the box inside. I had no idea where Paul and I were going on our date, no idea whether or not the thing Claire picked out would even be appropriate, but at that moment, I didn't care.

Carrying it to the kitchen, I set the box down on the table and untied the ribbon. Lifting the lid, I was faced with a mountain of pale blue tissue paper. I reached inside and began pulling it out, setting it aside. What was the point of a mountain of tissue paper? I loathe people who do that when wrapping gifts; piling a pound of paper on top of the contents so the recipient has to dig like an archeologist uncovering ancient artifacts.

When I finally reached the bottom, a midnight blue dress was folded neatly inside, a pair of heels laid toe to heel at the bottom. Tears sprang to my eyes and I quickly wiped them away, not wanting a puffy face for my first date in a long time.

"Okay," I said taking a deep breath. "Shower, change, makeup and hair. Let's go."

I grabbed the box off the table and carried it upstairs. I had a date to get ready for.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Coffee & Cigarettes

Leah

The moist ocean air whipped through my hair as we sailed toward Tillamook Rock. I sat beside Paul as he stood behind the wheel, the wind ruffling his hair. "So Tillamook Rock," I said casually trying to understand why, of all places, we were heading there.

When he came earlier this evening to pick me up, his jaw dropped when I opened the door as did my own. He had on a pair of jeans and a black down vest. I sudden felt ridiculously foolish. "It's too much isn't it? The dress I mean."

He stood there for a moment before finally finding his voice again. "It's not, it's amazing, you look amazing, and I just wish I would have told you beforehand where we were going."

"It's no big deal," I said nonchalantly. "I can change, just tell me what I need to put on and we can go."

"It would probably be best to just throw on a pair of jeans and a jacket."

"Jeans and a jacket. Okay, I can do that. Come on in, I'll be back down in a few."

I changed quickly, somewhat relieved that I wouldn't have to sit across from him in a crowded restaurant wearing that dress. I felt decidedly more comfortable in jeans and a bright blue Old Navy pullover. I slipped on a pair of Top Siders and hurried back downstairs. "Alright, let's go."

Paul stood and took a step toward me. "I am sorry," he said. "I should have planned this out a little better."

"It's no big deal. Claire, well she sent the dress. It wasn't really my style. I'm much more comfortable like this. So where are we going anyway?"

"It's a surprise," he said mysteriously, "But I think you'll enjoy it a helluva lot more than dinner in some crowded restaurant.

He was right, of course. Sailing through the darkness marveling at the expanse of the ocean and the lights of the coast twinkling, this was a hundred times better than a date a hundred other guys would have taken me on.

"Yeah, Tillamook Rock."

"What's so great about Tillamook Rock?"

He glanced at me incredulously. "You've never heard the story?"

"Um, no."

"Wow, you are an out of towner."

"What's the story?" I snapped.

"Calm yourself," he laughed. "All in good time."

Out of the darkness rose the small rocky island, a ghostly building rising up out of the fog, its light long since extinguished. "Can you hold the wheel; I'm going to drop the anchor."

I stood and gripped the wheel as he moved away from me. The distinct rattling of chains chinking as the anchor splashed into the surf below. The boat bobbed slightly, catching the current of waves pounding against the rocks before us.

"Are we going onto the rock?"

Paul laughed as he came back toward me, wiping his hands on his jeans. "No. I can't get that close, and it's not safe. Let's go sit over here, we'll eat, and I'll tell you the story of Tillamook Rock."

He picked up a basket from behind where we were sitting and grabbed my hand, leading me to the front of the boat. Pulling a blanket from the basket, he spread it over the deck of the boat and sat down, patting the space beside him. I sank down beside him and glanced over at the abandoned lighthouse.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little. What's in the basket?"

"My specialty, tuna sandwiches and Pringles; oh and some fruit and a couple of beers."

I couldn't help but to laugh. Either he was the most clueless man in the world, or the smartest. This was the craziest excuse of a date that I had ever been on, but I had to admit, he had captured my attention by thinking outside the box and not letting the idea of a date limit his creativity.

He handed me a sandwich, which I accepted, as well as a tall stack of salty chips. "So, in case you haven't guessed, that is Tillamook Rock. It is ridiculously haunted."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure it is."

"No seriously. The place has history."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really. See, the story goes like this. In 1879, this lighthouse engineer sails out to the rock to see if building a lighthouse there was a possibility. He brought a crew with him, but because the seas around the base of the rock were so treacherous, they had to get onto the rock by jumping from the boat onto the rock.

"There was a mason by the name of Trewavas who attempted to jump on the island, well he slipped and went right into the drink. His assistant, a man by the name of Cherry, jumped in after him. Cherry was rescued from the sea, but Trewavas was never found. This of course, put the locals on edge and they began to essentially boycott the project.

He continued to tell me about how none of the locals was foolhardy enough to work on the construction, about how a man named Ballantyne who replaced Trewavas, had to bring in men from out of town and keep them locked away from the locals so as not to scare them away. After the lighthouse was finished, a keeper was hired to maintain the light. He was a local guy from Capeside, married to a woman he grew up with, they were expecting their first child in the fall."

"I have the nagging suspicion that this is going to end terribly," I said softly.

"It does," he said sadly. "There was a Nor'easter, the first floor of the lighthouse flooded, the light went out. The keeper tried to get it relit, but what with all the wind, the ocean kept on coming. No one really knows exactly what happened, but after the storm, a party went out to check on him only to find him gone. With no way off the rock, the authorities assumed he somehow was swept out to sea. When they went to tell his wife, she fell apart. Cops found her body floating in the ocean at the base of Tillamook Head the next morning. Unable to live with the grief of his loss, she jumped from the rock. A week later, after the storm had subsided and it was as safe as possible to get a new keeper on the rock, they did. A few nights after arriving, the new keeper heard a noise coming from the light room at the top of the lighthouse. Figuring it was just birds, he went to investigate. However, what he found was not birds."

"It was the old keeper, wasn't it?" I exclaimed.

Paul nodded. I could imagine the scene, America in its heyday, the beginning of the boom, which birthed life as we now know it. A scared keeper with a scruffy beard wielding a lantern of some sort, quietly creeping through the lighthouse scared half to death. His surprise at finding the old keeper alive and rather well.

"It was. He was barely alive, hypothermia and dehydration had set in, but he was holding on. When they got him back to Capeside, and after he'd been nursed back to health, he asked about his wife and unborn child."

"Oh god, can you imagine that? To weather that kind of storm, not be found when the search party came looking for you, then to find out your wife jumped off a cliff, and well that had to be devastating. What happened to him?"

"He was released from the hospital and went back to his old home. After that, no one really knows. There are several different endings to the story. One says he became a hermit, never leaving his home, choosing to spend his days in self-imposed confinement. Another version says he jumped from the cliff the night after he was released from the hospital." Paul shrugged. "I think that either way, what happened to the old light keeper and his wife are the reason there seem to be so many broken hearted souls in Capeside. I think his grief was so deep that it bled into the ground and became a sort of beacon of its own, shining brightly in the night, guiding other souls toward a place of healing."

The boat bobbed slightly in the surf. I glanced up at the ghostly lighthouse, a dark mass on an even darker night sky. "That is such a terrible story."

"It is," Paul agreed. "But its history."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?"

"Why did you decide to bring me here, to tell me all of this? Out of all the places you could have taken me, why are we sitting on a boat, freezing our asses off, retelling old tales?"

Paul sighed as he replaced the lid back on the tube of Pringles. "You are unlike anyone I've ever met," he said slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I know I could have taken you to some restaurant and made stupid small talk, or in our case, argued about something completely pointless. However, you're different, that wouldn't have been enough for you. You would have pretended to have a good time, but underneath you would be picking apart my every decision. I knew taking you out on the boat, packing a cheap meal of chips and sandwiches, and telling you some sad story about the past might backfire on me. But some part of me said that this would get your attention, this would somehow tell you that I want to get to know you, maybe someday fall in love with you. This would tell you that I was serious about possibly being what you need."

Here I was, bobbing off the coast of an abandoned lighthouse with a man who liked me, flaws, and all. The decision was easy, easier than even I imagined it could be. "Okay," I said in clear voice. "You proved some point even I wasn't aware needing proving. Just don't hurt me."

"I have no intention of doing so."

That night after dropping me off, I dragged a box of trash bags out from under the sink and tossed out the little bits of my past life. Everything that reminded me of Sam went into the garbage, my life slowly being purged of the world of hurt he inflicted upon me. As I sat amidst the pieces of my former life, all bagged carefully, and ready for disposal, a thought blossomed in my head. Sitting here among the past, I realized that the person I was, was one I didn't recognize anymore. Without even realizing it, I had become someone new. Sitting here, I realized that you never really knew who you were until you were forced to examine the pieces of your life. Who I was when I was with Sam was not who I was now. I was just me, just Leah, not Sam's Leah, or even Paul's Leah. I was Leah's Leah. The realization made me feel strong and somewhat whole again. I could face whatever came, because let's face it; the worst of it was behind me. Sure, there were bound to be rough days ahead, life was not always smooth sailing, but it was a trip I wanted to take.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Coffee and Cigarettes

Leah

Summed faded slowly like ice melting in a glass of water on a warm afternoon. The change brought a smattering of red and orange hues to the trees of Capeside. Autumn frost littered the lawns each morning, the chilled air nipped at your nose in the lingering daylight of the shorter days.

It was funny how much a life could change in the passing of a season, the letting go one's old life and the arms wide open embracement of the happiness a new life could bring, the healing that could be found in a pair of strong and understanding arms. The freedom that was letting go and learning to just be.

There were little things, tiny moments that once seemed so inconsequential you rarely acknowledged their presence. Little things that made a world of difference now. I had let go of my past, of the baggage that weighed me down and found a sense of freedom I hadn't felt before.

I owed it all to Paul. He forced me to accept the change that was swirling around me earlier this summer. He showed me that even though the world was bathed in ugly, there was still beauty to be found. He made me find it in myself and by doing so, he made me rediscover myself.

And if I'm being honest, I liked the person I found underneath all the hurt and scars. She was strong and beautiful, courageous enough to admit when she was afraid and humble enough to admit she needed help every once in a while. And I liked the fact that I found her on my own, that I reclaimed myself as my own and no one else's. Doing so helped build a stronger foundation for my relationship with Paul. I didn't have to worry about being the version of myself that he liked best. He'd seem me at my lowest, and still came to care for me despite all my bitter rage. It was comforting and comfortable to finally be able to be who I was and not someone he wanted me to be.

The cold surf swirling around my ankles reminded me that it was past time to get off the beach. I grabbed my shoes and stood, brushing the sand off the back of my pants, heading back toward the house. A light from the kitchen glowed warmly in the window. I smiled and headed toward it, looking forward to the warmth waiting within.

"Did you have a good walk?" Paul asked as I opened the backdoor and stepped into the kitchen.

I nodded and dropped my sneakers. "It's really starting to get chilly. The ocean temperature was never really that warm, but now it's downright frigid."

"I'm making some stew. Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good, why don't you go change into something more comfortable, I'll finish this and then we can watch this movie I picked up on my way home from the grocery store earlier."

"Alright, I'll be back down in a bit." I leaned up and kissed him briefly on the cheek, then exited the kitchen. I hurried upstairs, stripping off my damp jeans and tee shirt, swapping them for a pair of faded sweats.

When I went back downstairs, Paul was sitting on the couch, television remote in one hand and two bowls of stew, steam drifting skyward in curls of heat, waiting on the coffee table. "What are we watching?"

-000-

A few days after Paul's return, I trekked across the soggy front yard to retrieve the mail.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, echoing across the sky. I quickened my pace, and upon reaching the aluminum box, tugged open the lid, grabbed the mail, flicked it shut and ran back through the rain and into the house. Leaning breathlessly against the door, I shuffled through the junk and bills as rain dripped into my eyes. A large, thick off white colored envelope three deep caught my attention. "What the..."

I dropped the other envelopes and stared at the one remaining. Dread washed over me, I didn't need to open it to know what it was, or who it was from. The only thing I couldn't figure out was why. Why had the bitch and bastard sent me an invitation to their wedding?

Hands trembling, I tore the envelope open. A smaller, stamped and addressed envelope, a save the date card and finally the wedding invitation came tumbling out. The fancy script blurred before my eyes and I tried to read it. Carrying the collection to the kitchen, I grabbed the phone when a thought struck me. It was my mother. My crazy, unrelenting mother. She had to have put them up to this. I started to dial her number, but stopped. As good as it would feel to call and rip her a new one, it would do no good. The damage was already done. The date had been set; the invitation mailed and was now staring up at me from the kitchen counter. I dropped the phone and ripped open the drawer closest to the phone, found a pen and scribbled, "fuck you," on the RSVP card, angrily shoving it back into its envelope.

That'll show them, I thought angrily as I licked the envelope. Feeling a surge of satisfaction I set the card down on the counter and stared at it. The rage subsided and something else, something familiar settled in. tears filled my eyes and I sank to the kitchen floor. Drawing my knees up, I leaned forward and cried into my arms.

Paul found me, still sitting on the kitchen floor when he came home from work. "Lee," he called, dropping his keys onto the table in the hall. "You home?"

I sniffed and wiped at my face. "In here," I sobbed. His footsteps hurried down the hall toward the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" he asked sinking down beside me. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. "No. yes." I sighed. "No."

"What happened?"

I reached up behind me and grasped for the invitation. My fingers grasped the thick cardstock and pulled it down, handing it to Paul. His eyes skimmed the text quickly, then he set it aside. "This doesn't matter. Think about it. You already knew they were getting hitched. Why are you so upset?"

I looked up at him, speechless. He raised his eyebrows questioning me silently. A beat, then another passed before I said, "I don't know."

"Well that's just dumb. Get up."

"Huh?"

"Get up; I want to show you something."

Paul stood and held out his hand. I took it and stood, following him out of the house, into the rain, across the yard and into his house. He led me up the stairs and down the hall into the room he'd converted into a darkroom.

Paul flicked on the red light and cast the room in an eerie glow. Rows of photos were tacked to the walls. "What is this?"

"They're photos I took right after the wedding disaster."

I glanced at each of the photos. Some were grotesque, morbid even, and some were on the opposite spectrum, beautiful and heartbreakingly so.

"There's so much ugly in the world," Paul said, standing behind me. "And when we hurt, it's easy to see only the ugly. But like everything else in life, there's beauty to be found too. It's up to you to see it. But you have to look for it, just like happiness."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I see how far you've come, how hard you've worked to be happy. You've worked too damn hard to let some silly wedding invitation knock you back down. Life is like a roll of film it starts out blank, black. Its a million possibilities rolled up in a tiny metal tube. And like film you have to use the negative to develop something beautiful. You have to let in the light. And life, like film, doesn't always turn out how you'd homed. Sometimes the film gets ruined. But you know what the great thing is? All you have to do is reload. Same thing with life. Sleep it off and try again tomorrow.

"I understand what you're saying, and I appreciate it, but-"

"But what?" he interrupted.

"Why would they do that, send me and invitation to their wedding?"

"Because they can. It's like the school bully poking the dead bird with a stick. Why does he do it? Because he can, because he's the tough guy. They did that because they could, because they knew it would upset you, and hell, why not have a little fun at Leah's expense."

"Well it's not funny," I snapped.

"No shit, he said."So what are you gonna do about it?"

"I'm going to send them the RSVP card with giant 'fuck you' scrawled across it."

Paul snorted, his face breaking into a grin. "You didn't."

I nodded. "I sure did. And then, I think I'm going to go."

"To the wedding?"

He asked his grin fading.

"Yes, to the wedding."

"But why?"

"Because," I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. "Because I'm not the same person I was. I'm not all hung up on him anymore, and I think it might be tat last bit of closure I need."

Paul made a face, his expression telling me that even though he didn't agree, he wouldn't say so. "Are you going alone?"

"I kind of have to. You won't be here that weekend."

"I can always get out of it," Paul said. "It would be the perfect opportunity for the new guy to prove himself.

"Evan would kill you. And quite possibly Brendan too. Go on your fishing trip."

"It's not a tip. Calling it a trip implies a certain level of fun."

"Shush. Go to work, there is that better?"

He nodded a smile on his face.

"Good. I'll go up to Seattle by myself and we'll be back together before you know it."

"I'm just gonna say this once, I don't like it, but if it's what you want, I'll go with it."


	13. Chapter 13

Coffee & Cigarettes

Chapter Thirteen

Leah

I sighed and stared out the kitchen window at the glow coming from Paul's kitchen window. I wished he would tell me what was bothering him. For the last three days, he'd been practically MIA, and I was worried. When I last saw him, his eyes – normally soft and kind – were dark and angry, volatile almost.

He stormed out of my kitchen, angrily calling Zeus and slamming the back door behind him as he left.  
We'd argued over the damn wedding and my steadfast refusal at allowing him to come with me to the wedding. He didn't understand that it was something I had to do on my own. I couldn't say I necessarily blamed him for being angry, but it was something he just didn't understand so I let him stew. I let him sit in his house and be pissed off. Now though, it was time for him to get over it. I grabbed my sweater off the back of the kitchen chair and wrapped it around myself before exiting the house. The damn warm weather had faded literally overnight, and the cold seemed to seep into every corner, chilling me to the bone. I crossed the backyard, frigid air whipping my hair into a tangled frenzy above my head and made my way through the now wider break in the bushes.

Inside the house, Zeus announced my arrival with a couple of excited barks. Climbing the back steps, I raised my fist and beat on the weathered wooden door. "Paul," I called over the howl of the wind. "Open the damn door, its freezing out here."

Silence answered me, then the heavy thud of footsteps across the floor echoed on the opposite side of the door. He wrenched the door open with a scowl, his eyes wordlessly demanding explanations as to why I was interrupting his first class hissy fit.

"What is going on with you?" I asked softly, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Nothing," he grumbled. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" I replied. "I want to know what the hell is going on with you."

He stared at me, as if I were too stupid to comprehend any answer he might have. "I think you already know," he answered snidely.

"No," I said slowly, "I don't. Are you going to let me in or are you going to make me stand out here until I freeze half to death?"

He heaved a sigh and stepped aside, allowing me access to his kitchen. The room was a disaster zone; dishes were piled up in the sink, multiple nights' dinners were still in pots on the stove and there was a general stink in the air. I wrinkled my nose, trying not to survey to mess with too much disdain, but it was hard. "Why won't you talk to me?" I asked sounding like a weak and pleading girlfriend instead a woman who really cared. "I don't hear from you for three days and then when I do come over here you treat me I have some kind of communicable disease. What is going on?"

Paul heaved a sigh, shutting the door behind me. He moved toward the counter and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "It's nothing," he said, the tone of his voice betraying his words. "Just work and other…stuff."

"Like?"

"Nothing," he replied.

"Really? Nothing has turned your house into an episode of Hoarders, made you so pissed off at me that you don't talk to me for three days?"

Paul pounded his fist against the counter top. The piles of trash – empty pizza boxes, cellophane food wrappers, and dishes – quivered and danced under the impact. I jumped back, my hand flying to my chest and clutching at my sweater as fear ran through my veins. "I told you nothing, goddamnit!"

"Okay, you know what, screw it. I don't know what your problem is and you don't want to tell me so whatever. Sit here and be miserable for no damned reason."

I quickly crossed the kitchen and wrenched the back door open, the cool, clean air a welcome respite from the stench in the kitchen. With my hand on the knob, I turned to look at him. "I will tell you this though, if you're this pissed off over my going to the wedding without you, then you can just get the hell over it. I'm going and you won't even be here, so it's just stupid. I'm not going to fight with you about it. If it's not the wedding you're mad about, then you need to say so. I'm not a mind reader, and I am sure as hell not going to stand by and let you treat me this way. When you get it together, come talk to me, but if you don't, then that's too bad, and it's your loss, not mine."

I crossed the threshold and shut the door behind me, not bothering to slam it. I crossed the yards quickly and hurried back into my own kitchen where the smell of pumpkin spice candles burning in the living room greeted me, wrapping me in a warm and comfortable sensation that was beyond welcoming.

I went through the kitchen into the living room and sat down on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest and leaning my head against the arm of the couch. Over the last three days, I'd had plenty of time to think about my decision to attend the wedding alone. Was it stupid? Possibly. Everyone's first assumption was that I was down here in Capeside pining over Sam, wondering when he would finally come to his senses and leave Emily. They'd be partially right; I did do that, but no longer.

Going with Paul would be easier on me, but then they'd look at me and wonder if I hired him, like Debra Messing in _The Wedding Date_, hiring a man to accompany her to her sister's wedding where her ex was a best man. I didn't want to be Debra Messing. I wanted to stand on my own two feet, no extra hands lending support for something I'd come to realize I was strong enough to handle alone.

I could see how Paul would feel snubbed. I got that, but did he not see how I felt about it? Obviously not if he was so pissed off about it.

I must've fallen asleep curled up there on the couch because when I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the curtains, and the candles had long since sputtered out leaving pools of orange wax solidified on the coffee table. I stretched, rolling my head back, then to the left and back to the right. I pushed myself up off the couch, groaning as my muscles protested, and shuffled toward the kitchen.

Paul was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. A tiny shriek escaped past my lips and I fell against the doorjamb, my hands fluttering to my chest. "Jesus Christ," I breathed. "You scared me."

He looked up at me. His eyes haunted and haggard. The deep purple bags suggested he hadn't been to sleep yet; a cooling cup of coffee took up the space between his extended elbows. "Sorry," he said huskily, his voice thick with emotion and exhaustion. "For scaring you and for being an asshole."

I ran my hands through my hair and stared at him blankly. "Are you ready to finally talk about whatever it is that's bothering you?"

He dropped his hands to the table, slapping the surface with his palms. The noise echoed off the empty space between us, a hollow and defeated sound. Paul sighed, and gazed from his cup of coffee to me. "I hate this life here," he said abruptly without preamble. I took a step back as if I'd been slapped.

"Does that include me?"

"Of course not!" He pushed himself up out of the kitchen chair and came toward me. "It's the damn boat and all the goddamn trips out to sea. It's doing a job that I absolutely fucking hate. It's not being able to be there for you when you need me to be, even if you are putting on a brave face about the whole fucking situation. It's the goddamn guilt trip Evan dishes out every time I even suggest not coming back. He's got me stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he's not ashamed about playing the family card. I miss my job and I'm miserable as fuck."

I swallowed, choking on the huge intake of breath I wasn't even aware I'd taken. "I don't know what to say," I admitted. "I want to tell you to just tell him you're done, that you can't do it anymore, but I'm sure you've already considered that."

"About six hundred times. I talked to him a few days ago, told him I was done. He gave me the, "I don't have anybody else, and I need you man," card. I didn't know what to do or say so I just went with it."  
I went to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, laying my head against his chest. I could hear his heart beating rapidly just beyond the surface of his dirty gray tee shirt.

"You know, sooner or later you are going to have to tell him that you quit."

"I know. The problem is when. There are two more major trips this year and then nothing until the summer." His fingers made small circles across my shoulder blades. Looking up at him, I saw just how much this was bothering him. In addition to the bags under his eyes, his face was unshaven, short black hairs peppered his cheeks and chin, giving him a rogue appearance, like the angel from my nightmares.

"Why don't you just do the last two trips then tell him you're done. That will give him plenty of time to find someone to take your place and then you can get back to doing what you love."

"It's more than that," he sighed. "I'm still bent about you and this going to the wedding of your ex and your cousin all alone. And don't even think about telling me you'll be fine. To me that is completely beside the point. They are going to eat you alive, and I don't want you to be alone when they do."

"Paul, you need to realize that I'm a big girl. So what if they eat me alive. I might fall apart, but you know what, I'll get back up again and carry on. Its life and sometimes we have to do things that are seriously unpleasant. This, your trip and mine, are one of those unpleasant things."

He scowled and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. "I still don't like it."

"I know. But I swear, it will be fine." He murmured something unintelligible into the top of my head and swayed on his feet. "When's the last time you slept?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, you need to sleep." I freed myself from his embrace and led him upstairs to my room. As he trudged up the stairs sluggishly behind me, I thought about what he said. I didn't realize how unhappy he was with his current line of work, which led me to thoughts about how little I really knew about him and how infantile our relationship still was. In all reality, we were like really, really good friends who slept in the same bed sometimes. We never slept together in the sexual sense, never did anything sexual in fact, unless you count kissing until all sense left my head. It didn't really bother me, the fact that we didn't have sex; I rather liked the whole taking it slow aspect. It was nice.

In the bedroom, I pulled down the comforter on what I considered his side of the bed, and Paul climbed in much like a child being tucked in for the night. I pulled the comforter back on the other side of the bed and climbed in beside him. When he wrapped his arms around me, I sighed and snuggled against his chest. He might think his life sucked, but for me, this moment was perfect.

-000-

In the days following our first fight, I talked Paul into telling Evan that he was done. He would finish this season, but would not be returning in the summer. Evan took it better than he expected and thanked him for sticking it out this long. Shortly after their conversation, things with us returned to normal.

We didn't talk about the wedding despite the fact that it was a little more than three weeks away. Instead, we spent our remaining days in front of the fire talking about everything from the weather to the Weiner Gate guy who cheated on his pregnant wife, which lead to a discussion about men in politics who cheat on their wives and the wives who stand by their side through it all. It was silly and superficial and we both knew it, but it was better than talking about the very large elephant lurking in the corner.  
The night before he was to go back out to sea, we were lying in bed, enveloped in darkness. Paul was lying on his side tracing shapes onto the exposed square of flesh between the hem of my tank top and waist of my shorts. "You know what?" he asked, tracing a star around my belly button.

"What?" I asked.

"We've been dating for a while now, but we don't really do things that a lot of couples do."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, for starters, I've never seen you naked."

I laughed, the sound escaping through my nose and sounding a lot like a snort. "I've never seen you naked either."

"Yeah, why is that?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I thought we were just taking it slow. You know what I mean?"

"I mean, there's slow and then there's snail pace. I've seen dead snails move faster than we're moving."

I chewed on my bottom lip, grateful for the darkness so he couldn't see how uncomfortable I was. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing. It's just a casual observation."

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," I admitted.

"You don't have to say anything. I just think that, deep down, you're still worried that I'm going to hurt you, even if you don't know it."

"I don't think that. I just want to build a meaningful relationship based on more than just physical attraction and sex. It doesn't have anything to do with getting hurt. I just want more this time around."

"What do you mean more?"

"I don't mean like marriage or babies, hell I don't think I ever want to get married. I want someone that I can be friends with first and foremost. I don't want to invest my time in someone who just wants casual sex and nothing more. I'm too damn old to be somebody's booty call."

"Who said I wanted casual sex?"

"No one. I'm just telling you what I want. You know, you say we don't do "normal" couple things, well we never talk about what this is between us or even where it's going." I pushed myself up onto my elbows and squinted at him in the darkness. "What exactly are we doing?"

Paul rolled over, the bedsprings protesting mildly, and said, "Would you hold it against me if I said I had no idea?"

"No," I said slowly, "because honestly I have no idea either. I mean, I like you. I like spending time with you, but we're just kind of fumbling; trying to get from one day to the next with no real destination in mind. We never talk about the future any further than the next fishing expedition. What happens after that's done? Are you staying in Capeside or are you going to go back to Seattle? If you do go back to Seattle then what about me, would you still want to see more or would I just become the woman you left behind in Capeside? What comes next?"

"I don't know what comes next. What I do know that I have no plans to return to Seattle. My life is here now, and you would never become the woman I left behind. I don't know what I want for the future. What I do know is that I care about you, and I want to see where this goes between us. I don't know if I ever want to get married either, but that doesn't mean that we can't have a good life together. Why do we need a destination when the road we're on right now is pretty damned good?"

"Because I don't like not knowing what's lurking around the corner." it came out sounding harsher than I'd intended, and it made me sound scared and weak, afraid.

"Look," Paul said, his voice sounded weary and tired. "All I know is that I'm happy. Being with you, in whatever sense of the word, makes me happy. I like knowing that I have you. I like knowing that when I come home from being on that godforsaken boat, you're going to be waiting for me. I like knowing that when I come home, it's you I'm coming home to. Isn't that enough?"

"For now," I conceded. I didn't want to fight, not tonight, especially with him leaving in the morning. I wanted to roll over and lose myself in his arms; not worry about tomorrow or the next day. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend that everything was perfect, even if it didn't make any sense at all.

"It's not perfect," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper in the darkness, "but it's what I've got. I'm not going anywhere. Right here is right where I want to be. You can count on that."

And I did. Because sometimes, you have to take what you can get and be satisfied.

-000-

I'm sorry the updates have been shite...I'm trying to get back on track, but I've had a lot going on and I hate authors that write stories and then only update them once every six months...I don't want to be like that...I had some trouble figuring out the inbetween parts of the story..I know what happens with the wedding and afterwards, but it was the getting there that was kicking my ass. Sorry if you've disliked the last few updates...hell, sorry if you've stopped reading because it took too long for me to update. I'm working on it, I swear.


	14. Chapter 14

Coffee and Cigarettes

Leah

Chapter Fourteen

Sitting in the backseat beside Paul as Kim navigated her beat up old Ford Explored toward the marina, sadness lingered in my belly. After our conversation last night, I realized how much I didn't want him to go. Even though I'd resigned myself to taking what I could get, I wasn't so sure our situation was resolved. That bothered me. He was leaving for four weeks, in three weeks I would be heading back to Seattle for the dreaded wedding, and then we would be right back where we started.

I took a deep breath as ship's masts came into view, their dingy beams piercing the dull gray sky, and put on a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. Kim slowed the car to a stop, shifted it into park, and shut the engine off. The four of us climbed from the warm interior. I stood clutching my arms around my middle in an effort to keep the lingering warmth inside my body. Paul walked around the back of the SUV and wrapped his arms around me, his hands rubbing my back.

"Are you sure-"

I looked at him sharply, cutting him off wordlessly before he had the chance to finish his question. "I'm sure," I said firmly. "Everything will be fine. Go do your job and I'll see you soon."

He nodded, dropping a kiss onto my forehead. "I'm going to miss you. You know that right?"

"I know," I said softly. "I'll miss you too."

"Come on man, its cold as hell out here. Let's go get this done and over with," Jared called from the marina.

I swear, he and Kim said the shortest goodbyes on the planet. I sighed, my breath coloring the breeze white and thick. Paul leaned down and pressed his cold lips to mine in a brief kiss. "Be back before you know it," he said in his typical goodbye.

"Not likely," I called. "I miss you already."

He raised a hand and waved goodbye the disappeared onto the ugly boat moored at the marina. Kim called to me from the driver's side of the car, and I hurried to climb back inside the cab where it was warm.

"Ready?" she asked fiddling with the heat controls.

I nodded and turned to stare out the window, watching as a light snow began to fall just beyond the thin pane of glass.

000

Three weeks later, I found myself staring down that seemingly endless stretch of highway that led from Capeside to Seattle. It was the loneliest journey a person could make, all alone in the car with nothing but blurred trees and staticky music that seemed to fade out when the best songs were played.

I gripped the steering wheel lightly as the heat blew gently through the vents and tiny snowflakes clung to the windshield. On the radio, Michael Bublé was crooning about a woman he had yet to meet. A thousand emotions swirled in the pit of my stomach, growing teeth with each passing mile and gnawing away at the soft tissue there within. What would it be like when I saw Sam again, would he smile at me and say how foolish he had been, that he missed me? Did I even care? Would I be the one to break, to bend, and snap under the enormous strain, would I weep and beg him to come back to me?

It seemed unlikely, but people always do stupid shit at weddings. It's inevitable, like spilling wine on your favorite white dress. Again, and what seemed like for the millionth time since leaving Capeside, I wished that Paul had backed out of his trip and come with me. I'd convinced myself this was something I needed to do alone, but suddenly I was beginning to doubt myself. Why did I have to be so strong; so damn stubborn?

Seeing the exit for Seattle ahead, I signaled and changed lanes, slowing down as I directed the car onto the connecting ramp. Rush hour traffic clogged the city streets, and I realized that I did not miss living in the city one bit. I tapped my fingers to the beat of the music coming out of the radio and slowly inched the car forward, clearing the intersection just as the light turned red.

An hour after entering the city, I pulled into the hotel parking lot where all the out of town wedding guests were staying, pulled up to the entrance and a kid in a dark blue polo opened the door. "Evening ma'am," he said.

"Hello," I replied putting the car into park and stepping out.

"Do you have luggage with you?"

"It's in the trunk," I told him stepping out of the way so he could get into the car. He slid behind the wheel easily and pulled the trunk release. Another boy in a matching blue polo retrieved my single suitcase and set it on the curb.

"Do you need someone to carry your case inside?" the second boy asked.

I shook my head no and said, "I think I can manage, but thank you." I grabbed the handle and pulled the suitcase, dragging it behind me into the lobby of the hotel. People milled about, checking in and out, heading into the restaurant and bar to the left of the lobby, as the door opened, I could hear the din of conversation and Journey telling diners to don't stop believing.

I headed toward the check in desk and stood behind a woman with three small children clustered around her. A little girl with pigtails turned to stare at me. I smiled at her and she quickly turned away. I waited as the mother collected her room key and children and moved off toward the bank of elevators.

I stepped up to the desk and gave the clerk my name and credit card. He moved effienciently checking me in and handing me my room key and sent me on my way, calling, "Enjoy the wedding!" as I went.

Up in my room, away from the hustle and bustle of activity below, I sank down onto the bed closest to the bathroom and sighed. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to go home to my own house and my own bed, curl up in the covers with Zeus, and read a good book.

I sighed, thinking of Zeus and wondering if he was okay with Kim. Of course he was, I told myself. She was completely capable of taking care of a dog. I lay back on the bed, staring up at the spackled ceiling and closed my eyes. Five minutes, I told myself, a five-minute power nap, then I have to get up, shower, and get ready to suffer through the rehearsal dinner.

I lay on the bed for a few more minutes, then finally got up and entered the bathroom, showered and changed into a simple black cocktail dress. Butterflies flitted in my stomach as I applied the finishing touches to my makeup and shut off the bathroom light. I immediately turned it back on and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and dry heaved into the bowl, my stomach clenching tightly as it fought to force up content that was not there.

I stayed on the floor longer than I should have, breathing in through my nose and out of my parted lips trying to calm the frenzy of nerves wreaking havoc. "Get it together," I told myself after my head stopped spinning. "It's just a goddamn dinner, not the end of the world."

Pushing back the hairs that had slipped loose, I stood up, went to the sink and filled one of the disposable plastic cups with water and rinsed my mouth, spit, then took a long swallow. My reflection was pale as I dumped the remaining water out. I leaned forward and smoothed my skin, rubbing away a black trickle of ruined mascara.

I retouched the offending eye and stared at my reflection. Far from perfect, but it would do. I shut the light off again and left the bathroom. Sitting on the dresser was my purse. I grabbed it, slipped my room key inside and left the room.

As I rode the elevator down, I felt the nausea swirling in my stomach again. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I could do this. Chances were, I wouldn't have to talk to either of them. Between the two of us, Emily and I, we had a huge family who would no doubt occupy both of our time with idle chitchat.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped into the lobby, crossing the marbled floor to the restaurant where the dinner was being held. The maitre'd greeted me as I entered.

"I'm here for the rehearsal dinner," I told him, trying to sound as confident as possible. My words came out sounding weak and somewhat slow to my own ears.

"Ahh," he said, "Right this way. Follow me, please."

He wound his way through the crowded dining room, toward the back of the restaurant where the sections for events such as this was located. "Here we are. Enjoy your function, if you need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask." His eyes lingered on mine for a moment too long, then I smiled and thanked him, turning away abruptly and walking right into the chest of my father.

"Leah!" he proclaimed loudly. "You made it."

"Of course I did," I muttered weakly.

"It's so good to see you," he said jovially and crushed me against him in a tight hug. "I've missed you. Tell me, when are you planning on moving back to Seattle?"

"Never," I said.

He frowned at me. "Never ever?"

The sentiment hit me like a fist in the stomach. When I was a girl and something would make me mad, something like my mother, he would say to me, "When are you going to learn to get along with her?" I would always reply, "Never," and his response would always be, "Never ever?"

"Never, ever, ever," I said. "I like Capeside. It's idyllic, quaint; whatever antiquated phrase you wish to use to describe it. It's my home now."

"Where your family is, is where your home is," he said sagely.

"Well then maybe you should consider moving to Capeside," I replied tersely.

"Don't be angry Leah," he said to me. "We miss you, that's all."

"I know Dad. I'm not angry, it's just that I can think of about five hundred other things I'd rather be doing right now."

My father nodded his eyes downcast and sad. "I can imagine. This has to be hard for you."

"You don't even know the half of it."

"Of course I don't. It's your pain, not mine. If you don't think you can do this, you don't have to stay; no one will think any less of you if you turn around right now and leave."

"I can do this," I said raising my chin defiantly. "I don't give a rip what the two of them do. If they want to pop out six hundred kids and go all Octomom, whatever. It's their life. I don't care."

"Okay," he said, conceding the argument. "Enough of all that heaviness, tell me how you've been. What have you been up to down there in Capeside?"

"A whole lot of nothing. Just working, really."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Dad if we're going to have this conversation then I need a drink and a seat."

"Well then let's go get us a drink; we'll pull up a seat and talk."

"Lead the way."

I followed my father to a small bar that had been set up in the back corner of the room and asked for a martini, very, very dirty. My father raised an eyebrow and ordered a scotch and soda. We collected our drinks and sat down at an empty table closest to the bar.

"So," he said after he settled himself into the chair opposite me, "I believe were discussing your love life."

"Yes, Leah's infamous love life. To answer the question, yes, I am seeing someone."

"And where is this mysterious someone? Is he here?" Harry scanned the room for my absent boyfriend.

"No, he wasn't able to get off of work to come with me."

"What kind of work does he do?"

"Well right now he is helping his uncle with his fishing business, but before that he was a photographer here in Seattle."

"That was a very generous thing for him to do."

"He's a very generous man," I replied.

"I see. Does he have a name or are we going to refer to him as 'he' all evening."

"His name is Paul. His uncle is a commercial angler, Paul is a photographer, he's from Seattle, moved to Capeside after me, lives next door, and has a dog that could be a horse for a munchkin. Any other questions?"

"Does he treat you well?"

"Better than Sam ever did," I replied promptly.

Harry took a long swallow of his drink and set it down on the table. "Leah," he said rubbing the rim of the glass with his forefinger. "You are still so bitter."

"No, I'm not. I'm just not going to sit here and pretend that I'm okay with this. I don't know who put them up to sending me the invitation, but it goes without saying it was unnecessary. I didn't need to be invited, didn't want to be invited and yet here I am, basically being forced to re-tangle myself up in this whole Sam-Emily-Leah love triangle mess."

"Why did you even come then?"

I sighed. How could I explain this to my father, hell, anyone, without it sounding absolutely pathetic. I couldn't, that's how. So I just said it. "I had to prove to them, to you and Mom, hell, Dad, to everyone, that I was fine. I walked through the fire and came out relatively unscathed." I held out my arms. "See, no scars."

"None that anyone can see," he said softly.

"I had to prove to myself as well that I was fine, that I was over it, that I _am_ over it. And I am. I'm here aren't I, and I haven't gone berserk and tried to kill anyone."

"Yet."

An irrational anger seethed, pulsing behind my eyes. I pushed the martini glass away from me and stood up. "Excuse me," I said, "I need to use the restroom."

I had to get the hell out of here. Who was I trying to kid. I couldn't do this. I could not sit in this room with all these people and have the exact same conversation with each of them that I just had with my father. I could feel them all staring at me as I made my way to the bathroom, their eyes boring into me, waiting, wondering if I was going to snap and make a scene.

As I rushed through the dining room, I bypassed the bathroom and headed into the lobby. I would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing just how much this was upsetting me. I crossed the lobby, pushed the call button for the elevator, and watched the numbers illuminate as the car descended.

When it opened in the lobby, I stepped inside and pressed the round button marked 14. The doors closed and soft instrumental music played overhead as the elevator ascended toward the fourteenth floor.

When it stopped, I stepped into the quiet hallway and made my way to my room, fishing through the contents of my purse for my room key. As I approached the door, I slid the card into the reader then let myself into the room. The bed had been turned down in my absence, a square green foil sat atop both pillows.

Something about the presence of a piece of chocolate made me smile. I kicked off my heels and reached around, unzipping the back of my dress, shimmying out it, then I pounced on the candy like a cheetah on a gazelle.

With the taste of hazelnut crème still on my tongue, I called Kim in Capeside to check on Zeus. She answered the phone on the third ring. "I didn't expect to hear from you so early. Is the dinner over already?"

"It is for me," I told her. "I couldn't do it. All of my family, sitting in there, staring at me like I was a leper come to infect them all, my father asking all these questions, trying to make me feel guilty for not wanting to move back to Seattle, then he wanted to know about Paul…it was just too much so I left. I think I'm just going to head back to Capeside in the morning; just skip the wedding and the reception and come home. I don't belong here."

"I'm sorry it was so bad for you, I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you."

"Know any good fairy godmothers? I could sure use one to bibbidy bobbidy boo Paul here for me."

Kim laughed, "Girl, you have no idea how much I wish that were true."

"I know. It's nice to dream though. I would even settle for the chance to just talk to him."

"Well, hang in there. Let me know what you decide to do."

"I will. How is Zeus?"

"He's fine. He's curled up at my feet snoring away."

"Good. Alright, well, I think I'm going to take advantage of this mini bar and the giant bathtub and then call it a night."

"Talk to you later."

I hung up the phone and skipped the mini bar, skipped the bathtub. I opened my suitcase and pulled out a pair of baggy sweatpants and one of Paul's tee shirts. The scent of his cologne flooded my senses as I pulled it over my head. I slipped into my sweats and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up and snuggling down into them. Cocooned in the warmth of the bed, I inhaled. Longing ran through me. I missed Paul, I missed him a lot, and the funny thing was I never realized how much I missed him until I was lying in bed at night. I could be asleep and I would roll over and catch a whiff of his cologne on the pillow, or still clinging to the shirt of his, I was wearing and it would hit me all at once.

Tonight was no different. I closed my eyes and lay there, breathing in the smell of him until I fell asleep.

000

The following morning, I awoke with a start, completely disoriented by my current surroundings. For a second I forgot where I was and what I was doing there. I looked around for Zeus before I realized I was in Seattle and Zeus was with Kim back in Capeside. I exhaled loudly and looked around the room, my hands flat on the bed on either side of my legs. Still here, I told myself and immediately regretted not getting in my car last night and hauling ass back to Capeside.

I shifted in the bed, glancing at the alarm clock resting on the nightstand to my right. The glowing red numbers informed me that the time was 9:42 in the morning. I groaned and kicked the covers off. The wedding was at eleven and I was in no shape, form, or fashion ready for it.

Padding to the bathroom, I flicked on the water and let it run hot before stepping into the scalding shower. I winced and let the spray assault my skin, hoping that it would hurt like hell therefore forcing me to focus on the possible first-degree burn I got from a shower instead of the dull ache in my chest.

Don't think about it, I told myself. Hell, detach yourself, act as if you don't even know them, because let's face it, you really don't. Go and sit in the church, suffer silently through the ceremony, make a brief appearance at the reception then high tail it the hell out of here. No one will ever know the difference.

I shut the water off and pulled a fluffy white towel from the rack, wrapping it around my body and stepping out of the tub. Applying last night's same pains, I dressed carefully in the dress Claire had bought me earlier this summer and applied more make up than a Barnum & Bailey clown. Satisfied with the look, I took the elevator down and waited for the valet to return with my car then headed to a small church about twelve blocks from the hotel.

I was one of the last guests to arrive and I slipped silently into the church taking a seat in a pew at the back of the building. Just as I sat, the first strains of the wedding march rang through the sanctuary and the ruffle of clothing and footsteps sounded as two hundred – or so it seemed – people stood.

The doors opened and Emily, relying heavily on the arm of her father, appeared. The guests let out a collective sigh and she made her procession down the aisle. The yards of lace and tulle did little to cover her swollen stomach as she made her way about as gracefully as a hippo toward the front of the church and her husband to be.

I watched as they exchanged vows with a sort of detached indifference. As the priest or minister or whatever he was declared them husband and wife and they rushed from the church I thought, well, that wasn't so bad, was it?

It wasn't that bad, not really. I followed the swell of the crowd out of the church, slid behind the wheel of my car, and made my way to the reception hall. I didn't dwell as I drove, I turned the radio up and belted along to the radio at the top of my lungs.

I found the reception hall and turned into the parking lot, pulling into a spot between a brand new Cadillac SUV and an older model Buick. I shut the car off, effectively silencing Natasha Beddingfield who claimed she had a pocket full of sunshine, and stepped out of the car.

As I entered the hall, the din of voices greeted me. I made my way past relatives I hadn't seen in years, people I didn't know, and friends I hadn't talked to since the split. They all gave me wide berth, whispering behind my back as I passed. I held my head high and wished upon wished that I'd given in and told Paul to skip the trip and come with me.

Ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow me through the reception hall, I found my table and sat down beside my younger brother.

"Sis!" he exclaimed enthusiastically as I settled into my chair. "How are you?"

I shrugged. "I'm here, I guess that's about as good as it gets."

Seth laughed and nodded. "I'm surprised you came. I told mom that it was a bad idea to invite you. I thought you'd freak out and go all _Carrie_ on everybody; you know, set the reception hall on fore or something."

"Don't get your hopes up Seth," I said. "It's not that serious."

"Sure it's not big sister, it's just our cousin and your ex getting married."

"I'm already well aware of what's going on here," I said stiffly. "I just don't care anymore."

Seth rolled his eyes and gazed around the room. "If you say so."

"I say so," I told him firmly. "How have you been?"

"Fine," he said. "Mom and Dad are the biggest pains in the asses. They want me to go to college, that's all they keep talking about. "What college are you planning on applying to, where do you want to go?" I keep telling them college is for the freaking birds, they, however, refuse to listen."

"What do you want to do?"

Seth shrugged, his shaggy hair falling forward into his face. "Bang my girlfriend, maybe join the Army. I dunno. I'm eighteen. Why do I have to decide everything right now? Why can't I just chill for a few years and then decide what to do?"

"I don't know. You know Mom and Dad though; they're control freaks. Do what you want to do; you're only young once."

"Your brother is giving you the "woe is me, Mom and Dad want me to grow up and be mature speech" I see," my mother said from behind me.

I turned in my chair and glanced up at her. Her pale pink suit was too light for her skin tone and her dark hair was twisted loosely into a knot at the back of her head. "Hello Mother," I said coolly.

"Leah," she replied. "So nice to see that you could drag yourself out of your self-imposed exile to join us for the day's excitements."

"Well, I was invited."

Sue looked around, scanning the table and the empty seats around me. "No date?" she asked curiously.

"No," I said. "I'm sure dad told you I was seeing someone."

"He did. So where is this mysterious man you're canoodling with?"

"Working, like the responsible adult you're so keen on forcing Seth to become."

Sue rolled her eyes and gently patted the side of her, fixing an invisible mistake. "Still dramatic as ever, I see," she scoffed lightly. "Your father and I just want what's best for your bother. I'm sorry if our expectations are too much. Life in this world is not easy, especially for one that does not hold a college degree. We are just trying to ensure he has a good life."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. I turned away from her, not wanting to hear anymore of her ridiculous ideas. Sue stood awkwardly at my elbow for a few moments longer before turning away and heading in the opposite direction. I glanced up at Seth and said, "Don't listen to anything she says, do what you want. If they get to be too much, you can always come down to Capeside. You know, stay with me for a few days or a few weeks, whatever you want."

"Thanks Leah," Seth said. "I'll think about it."

The D.J. chose that moment to announce the arrival of the bride and groom. I turned in my seat to see Emily and Sam arrive, smiles plastered to their faces. I joined the other guests and applauded politely as they took their place in the middle of the dance floor.

As the first notes of piano filled the hall, Emily reached up and wrapped her arms around Sam's neck, tenderly running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He wrapped his long arms around her swollen middle and began swaying to an old Bob Dylan song. I watched with detached interest as two people who used to mean the world to me stared adoringly at one another.

I hummed along, tapping my foot on the floor and mentally patted myself on the back for not having a mental breakdown. When the song ended, another sappy slow song began and my good feeling began to disintegrate. In his seat beside me, Seth swiveled and surveyed the room. "Who's that dude?" he asked.

Curiously, I turned to see whom he was referring to. Through the crowd of people making their way to the dance floor, a figure at least a head taller than the other guests, began making his way toward the edge of the dance floor. "Oh my god," I murmured.

Seth stared at me. "You know him?" I nodded, dumbfounded. "Who is it?"

"That's my boyfriend," I said rising out of my chair. Paul's gaze locked on me and he smiled, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Leah!" he called as I rushed toward him.

"What –" I paused, trying to force my brain to work, searching for the words lost in the joy. "What are you doing here?"

"We ported up in Alaska to offload some of our haul and I just couldn't get back on the boat the next morning. I hopped on the first flight out of Alaska and came straight here."

"What about your job? Evan?"

"Evan can kiss my ass, you're more important. I know you said you could handle it, but…I don't know. I just felt like you needed me to be here. So here am I."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him close. Under the dark green sweater he wore, I could hear his heart beating a steady tattoo. I closed my eyes and sighed as he slid his arms around my waist. "I'm so glad you came."

"You look amazing, by the way. How are you holding up?"

I pulled back and glanced up at him. "Surprisingly well. I just figured that they could do whatever they want. I have you and that's all I really need."

Behind me, Seth coughed noisily. I shot him a smile over my shoulder and turned back to Paul. "Come meet my brother." Taking his hand in mine, I led him to the table I was sharing with Seth. I sat down beside my brother and patted the seat on my other side.

"Who's the Sasquatch?" Seth asked.

I shot him a look that said, be nice. "This is Paul. Paul, this is my brother Seth."

"Nice to meet you," Paul said around me.

"I'd say the same, but I just found out you existed like twenty minutes ago."

"Will you please just be nice? Why do you have to act like Mom and Dad? Shake the man's hand and say, "It's nice to meet you." Jesus how hard is it?" I turned toward Paul. "This is why he's just heard of you twenty minutes ago. As you can probably see, I'm related to the definition of pain in the ass."

"Come on, Lee," Seth complained. To Paul he said, "It's not even like that. Some random guy shows up at my cousins wedding and Leah here damn near crapped her pants and then it's like, oh, this is my boyfriend. It's weird. She said you weren't coming."

"I wasn't," Paul said. "Well not originally. I had to work, but as you can see, I managed to get here."

"What do you do?"

"I'm, well I was, I doubt I still have a job after the stunt I pulled to get here, a photographer turned fisherman."

Seth wrinkled his nose. "Sounds glamorous."

Paul laughed and shook his head. "Oh totally. You should try it."

"Yeah, our parents would love that." Seth glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Speak of the devil."

I turned and glanced in the direction he was looking. Both Sue and Harry were approaching our table. I groaned and grabbed a hold of Paul's arm. "Prepare yourself for trouble."

My parents sat down in the seats across from where the three of us were sitting. "Well, well, who's this?" Sue asked eyeing Paul intently.

"Paul," I said brusquely, praying they wouldn't do or say anything to embarrass me.

"Leah's new boyfriend," my father said to my mother. She eyed Paul curiously, sizing him up, preparing to devour him whole.

"Nice of you to join us," she said.

"It's nice to be here," Paul replied, looking around at the overly decorated reception hall. "Quite a shindig you guys got going on here."

My mother fawned, preening under his compliment. If you didn't know any better you'd think she was the mother of bride or groom instead of just an aunt. "Well," she said, her hand fluttering to her chest. "We try."

I bit back the bubble of laughter forcing its way up my throat and turned away from the scene in front of me. Paul winked at me before turning back to face my mother. "I can see that," he replied, his voice oozing with charm and agreeableness. "You did an amazing job, I suspect the happy couple will remember this day for years to come."

My mother smiled, nodding her head in agreement. "I'm sure they will. You know, Leah was once engaged to groom."

"Mom-"

Sue waved her hand, dismissing me. "She was," she told Paul eagerly, anxious to gossip about me despite the fact I was sitting right in front of her. "about a year or so ago."

I didn't bother to tell her we'd never been engaged; it seemed irrelevant at this point. I glanced over my shoulder, away from her, watching a group of people do the electric slide.

"Yeah, she told me about that," Paul said softly. He placed his hand on my leg and squeezed it gently. "Personally, I think what he did to her was atrocious, cowardly even. Leah's a good person; it's a pity he was too stupid to see that. Now if you'll excuse me, I happen to like this song a lot and would like to dance with my girlfriend." Paul stood and held out his hand. "Care to dance?"

I nodded fervently and placed my hand in his, rising from my chair. "thank you," I said into his chest as he pulled me close to him.

"No worries. You're mother is a first class piece of work."

I sighed as he carried me across the dance floor to our own private corner. "Tell me about it. I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

"We'll finish our dance first then sneak out of here. are you planning on heading back to Capeside tonight?"

I shook my head no and laid it against his chest. "I was going to stay in the hotel tonight then head back in the morning. What are you planning? Are you going to try and meet back up with Evan?"

"Not now, okay? We can talk about all this later." Paul dropped a kiss on the top of my head and tightened his grip around me. "I missed you," he murmured softly.

"Missed you too," I said softly. "And I'm glad you're here."

The song ended and another one began. Neither Paul nor I made any moves to leave the dance floor, we kept swaying in that corner until the second song ended. As the final strains of guitar hung in the air, I pulled away and looked up at him. "Okay," I said. "Its time to get the hell out of here."

With our fingers wound together, we crossed the wooden dance floor and headed toward the table I'd shared with Seth. My younger brother was still sitting at the table, however, my parents were nowhere to be found. I grabbed my bag from the table and laid my hand on Seth's shoulder. "Son't forget what I said," I told him. "You have my phone number. You can call me, even if it's just to talk. And if you ever need anything just call, okay?"

Seth nodded and stood, unfolding his lanky frame from the chair. He leaned down and hugged me. "It was good to see you," he said. "Believe it or not, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. Call me sometime, we'll catch up."

Seth dropped his arms and nodded. "I will. So, I guess I'll see you later?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm done with this. I showed my face, didn't ruin their day, and now I'm done. Take it easy, and don't listen to mom and dad. It's your life."

Seth nodded and I hugged him one more time before leading the way out of the reception hall. I grabbed my jacket and walked into the misty parking lot. It was done, I had faced down my demons and not fallen apart. I dug my keys out of my bag, clutching them in my hand. "Follow me back to the hotel?" I said to Paul who nodded.

As I got into the car, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. One chapter of my life had finally ended. Now it was time to start writing the next one.

Make You Feel My Love – Bob Dylan

Just A Kiss – Lady Antebellum

Fade Into Me – David Cook


End file.
